Headmaster Snape
by Allyswrites
Summary: "Apparently the students thought that he would Avada Kedavra them on the spot if they accidentally met his eyes. Dunderheads." Snape's time as Headmaster, from his point of view. [complete, prequel posted]
1. The Sorting Scream

**Author's note:** I've wanted to write something about Snape for a while - he was my favourite character in the books - and I kept thinking about how lonely it must have been to have an entire community turned against you while you were actually trying to do something good. So here's a piece showing Snape's thoughts as his time as Headmaster begins. Please review!

 **Warning for future chapters, as of May 13, 2016:** This turned into a dark multi-chapter, and there is some swearing, non-graphic corporal punishment, non-graphic torture, and an allusion to rape later on. (The latter two are courtesy of Voldemort... after all, he is, to quote Chapter 4, a "sadistic, dictatorial maniac.")

 **Warnings for this chapter:** None

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **The Sorting Scream**

Severus Snape banged his way into the Headmaster's office, surrounded by the characteristic billowing of his robes, and collapsed ungracefully in the chair behind the desk. He was possessed by an urge to throw something, but instead settled for pinching the bridge of his nose and clenching his other hand into a fist.

"Severus, my boy, what has you so vexed today?"

The new Headmaster turned to scowl fiercely at the portrait of his predecessor.

" _If you hadn't noticed,"_ he snarled, "the Dark Lord has control of the school. The Carrows are roaming the halls, all the muggleborns have had to go into hiding, some of the lessons to be taught here are downright reprehensible; need I continue?"

The portrait regarded him gravely.

The past couple of weeks had been nightmarish. The nightmare began with the death of Charity Burbage at Malfoy Manor: The Dark Lord had mocked the Muggle Studies professor and thoroughly humiliated her, while a group of Death Eaters observed the spectacle. She had begged Severus save her, and he had maintained his blank expression, projecting an apathetic disposition. The Dark Lord had then murdered Burbage and fed her corpse to Nagini, the image of which would likely be burned into Severus's mind forever—it wasn't every day that one witnessed a colleague being devoured by a giant snake.

Following the meeting, the Dark Lord had privately given Severus instructions on how Hogwarts was to be run. Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four would be reinstated, forbidding the children from meeting in groups. Parents and professors would be kept as tightly in check as the students, primarily through fear-mongering and manipulation, but also through physical means if need be. Alecto and Amycus Carrow would teach Muggle Studies and Dark Arts respectively. In addition to being teachers and Deputies, the twins would be in charge of punishment; a disused classroom in the dungeons was to be repurposed for school discipline. In this case, "discipline" was the polite word for "torture."

The whole evening had left Severus with his skin crawling, and that didn't happen very often.

"Hogwarts this year will be nothing like you've ever seen before," Severus warned, mentally shaking away the memories.

Dumbledore reminded him, "You promised to protect the students."

"I know what I promised," Severus snapped in response, "and protect them I shall. But I must say that given the situation, it will be a nearly-impossible task."

"I don't believe that the situation is any worse than we anticipated, and the students will be safer with you than with, say, dear Bellatrix Lestrange."

Severus supressed a wince. The thought of the Dark Lord's right hand woman running Hogwarts was repulsive. She would most likely render a third of the student body insane and leave another third dead if given just one week as Headmistress. Severus would be far from kind—he did have a crazed and power-hungry dark wizard to cater to, and kindness did not tend to be part of his nature in the first place—but he would be kinder than some.

Selfishly, Severus thought about how much strain the year would put on himself. The tightrope between light and dark was difficult to walk if one's loyalties were ambiguous; trying to actually do something good while maintaining the illusion of being an avid Death Eater made it even trickier. And not that Severus usually had the time to dwell on the feeling, but it was also a very lonely job. Only he knew what he was really trying to accomplish. Everybody else despised him from here to perpetuity. Encounters with staff members who were previously something akin to friends—primarily Minerva, Poppy, Filius, and Aurora—had made that fact clear enough. His colleagues were civilized, but barely; they made no secret of their feelings. Not counting the painted impression of Albus, Severus was well and truly alone.

He pulled himself out of his brooding and stood. "The next wave of incompetent dunderheads will be arriving shortly," he sneered, albeit half-heartedly. "I must go."

Dumbledore gave an exaggerated yawn and stretched his arms above his head. "Enjoy the feast."

"I doubt I will."

* * *

Severus was the recipient of many baleful glares when he entered the room, all of which he ignored as he took his place at the head table. The seats on either side of him were reserved for the Carrows—Amycus on the right and Alecto on the left—but those two were currently absent, as they were preoccupied with preparing to terrorize the incoming first years. Minerva's place was beside Amycus, with Pomona on her other side, and Filius sat between Alecto and Slughorn. Slughorn was the only Head of House who didn't completely radiate disgust upon seeing Severus.

The tension increased tenfold when students began streaming through the doors of the Great Hall. Most were clearly apprehensive, although that was no surprise. The room was filled with shadows that hadn't been there before, the ceiling an ominous grey colour. Some of the emptier tables made apparent just how many had not returned, and much to the discomfort of the other Houses, Slytherin obviously reigned supreme: All the decorations were green and silver. Heads turned when the large doors opened again to admit the Carrows, Alecto carrying the stool with the Sorting Hat, who were followed by a line of eleven-year-olds. The children were wide-eyed. Evidently, the twins had sufficiently terrified them. It was turning out to be a very unwelcoming Welcoming Feast.

The one constant through this whole event was the Hat. Sitting on the three-legged stool, it looked as ragged as it had at Severus's own Sorting, the beginning of his descent into the dark—or perhaps, he mused cynically, that began with his birth. In any case, the Sorting Ceremony was the only thing left untainted by the Dark Lord's hold on the school. So Severus thought, anyway.

On the contrary, it seemed that the Hat had chosen to forego its customary Sorting Song this year. Instead, when it opened its mouth, it let out a piercing shriek. The sound was like a roomful of people being C _rucio_ ed. Everyone immediately slammed their hands over their ears.

After a brief moment of shock, Severus rose to his feet and bellowed, _"Silencio!"_

The Hall fell silent. Eyes turned towards the head table.

"Begin the Sorting," he commanded harshly before sitting down again.

The Headmaster paid minimal attention to the actual Ceremony. The Hat's scream, he felt, was an accurate representation of how the year would unfold. The thought prompted a tingle of fear, which he quickly pushed behind his Occlumency shields. Now was not the time to show emotion. Such a time did not exist.

* * *

The first day back at Hogwarts usually caused excited chatter among the students, whose discussions of the summer holidays brought the volume in the Hall to a dull roar; tonight, however, dinner was eaten in near silence. Those who did talk spoke in hushed tones, and conversations were punctuated with nervous pauses. Words were being very carefully considered.

When stomachs were filled, and the leftovers and place settings vanished, Severus stood. This small motion was enough to capture focus. When he began his speech, his voice was low and quiet; he could ensnare the attention of several hundred people as efficiently as he could a small classroom.

"The Dark Lord has a solid grasp on the Ministry, and we are entering a new era here at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If you are wise, you will be on your best behaviour. Some much-needed changes are being implemented, and believe me, anyone foolish enough to do so much as consider opposing them will end up very, very unhappy. In fact, the slightest hint of rebellion may lead to certain people... disappearing." He let the threat hang in the air for a moment. When he resumed, he had to raise his voice to carry over the distressed murmurs.

"Some areas of the curriculum have been modified: Muggle Studies, taught by Professor Alecto Carrow, is now mandatory for all students. Timetables have been updated accordingly. Professor Amycus Carrow will be teaching _Dark Arts"_ —he emphasized the title, drawing awareness to how there was no longer any defence involved—"and classes will be practicals only. Additionally, the Carrows are in charge of punishment; all rule-breakers will be referred to them, and if you do not wish to regret being born, you will keep out of trouble."

Some of the other professors were practically shaking with anger by this point, and even the seventh years looked terrified. The only students left unintimidated were the Slytherins, who looked rather smug.

Still there was more: "I will make it very clear right now that disrespect will _not_ be tolerated. All incoming and outgoing mail will be opened and searched, and there are to be no other forms of communication. Students returning home for the holidays will be monitored. Furthermore, student organizations are prohibited. This includes Quidditch teams and unauthorized study groups. Professors hold total authority; there will be no negotiations here."

He took a deep breath. "Finally, anybody who knows of Harry Potter's activities or whereabouts will report to me immediately. This is of the utmost importance. The punishment for withholding such information will be severe, as will be the punishment for planting false information."

Feelings of oppression hung heavy in the air as silence fell again. Nobody moved. Severus turned a searching look on each House table in turn, lingering on Gryffindor. Hopefully, all the students would heed his warning and keep their heads down—he wanted to sentence as few children as possible to a detention with the Carrows—but if any students were to give him trouble, it would be Potter's brash, nearsighted friends.

Finishing his scan, he waved his wand and opened the doors to the Great Hall. The clang resounded through the stillness.

"Follow your Heads of House. You are dismissed."

* * *

It was nearly two o'clock in the morning when Severus entered the Headmaster's private chambers and collapsed into bed fully-clothed and exhausted.

He did not sleep well.


	2. Misery and Mayhem

**Author's note:** This story was only supposed to be a one-shot, but the characters had other ideas. (Funny how that happens sometimes.) That being said, I am not promising more chapters, although it isn't out of the question. Please review!

 **Warnings:** None

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **Misery and Mayhem**

"You must understand, I had no choice."

"We always have a choice," Severus replied stonily. "You have given a top-secret task to three children, who are Gryffindors to boot; Gryffindors are not exactly known for their subtlety, especially not those particular three. Not only that, but Potter is currently the most wanted person in all of wizarding Britain. The Dark Lord has scores of Death Eaters out searching for him. He has even placed bystanders under the Imperius Curse to further the hunt. The children are on a suicide mission, Albus, a suicide mission. What, pray tell, do you propose we do if _Wonder Boy_ "—he sneered—"gets himself killed before his time?"

Severus paced the floor in front of the desk, his hands clasped behind his back, his shoulders tense. He had been doing that a lot lately.

"All three of them are seventeen," Dumbledore pointed out mildly, completely disregarding the majority of the Potions Master's tirade. "They are of age."

"They are _children,"_ Severus repeated forcefully. Thankfully, he always maintained a Silencing Spell around his office when he was alone. His shouting would have otherwise carried to the opposite end of the castle.

Dumbledore attempted the placate the younger man: "Of course, my boy, now calm down. All you need to concern yourself with is getting the Sword to Harry."

"Do not patronize me!" Severus spat. He continued angrily with, "And how am I supposed to deliver the Sword to Potter when nobody knows where it is that he has run off to?"

"I can acquire that information."

He stopped pacing. As per usual, most of the portraits were pretending to be asleep—although it was obvious that they were listening attentively to the altercation—but the form of Phineas Nigellus was staring at Severus from his silver frame.

"Oh?" Severus raised an eyebrow. "That is quite a claim."

The painting gave Severus a haughty look. "The Mudblood-"

"Do not use that word!"

"Fine," Phineas huffed, "the Granger girl. She removed my portrait from Grimmauld Place and is carting it around with her. She dumped it into a bag with an assortment of junk; it is quite undignified."

"Wonderful, wonderful!" Dumbledore exclaimed brightly, ignoring Phineas's complaints of wounded pride.

Severus resumed pacing as he considered this new information. Of course Granger would be the one to do something of that sort. Regardless of anything he may have said in class, the girl did possess a good dash of intelligence, which was more than could be said for the remainder of the so-called Golden Trio. If he were not so concerned about how she intended to use the connection, Severus might have complimented her thinking.

"That which occurs in this office must remain strictly confidential," he said in warning. "It is imperative that nobody knows of my true loyalties. I will not have my secrets spilled due to a carelessly-placed phrase." These words were accompanied by a small pang of regret, but Severus pushed the sensation firmly away; that his cover was crucial to maintain and could be fragile was simply the truth. It was safer if nobody knew—being alone was safer. One would have thought he'd know that by now.

Phineas gave a loud sniff, clearly offended. "I was not born yesterday," he retorted and walked out of view.

Severus had to restrain himself from sighing in exasperation. He shifted his attention back to Dumbledore, whose painted eyes twinkled merrily, just as they had in life.

"You don't have to look so smug," Severus grumbled.

Dumbledore only smiled broadly in response. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes, and Severus knew that he had been dismissed.

* * *

In the past, staff meetings were boring at best, but now they were downright miserable. Severus, along with the Carrows, used much of the time to viciously insult whichever students had unfortunately provoked their dislike. Severus then issued veiled—or blatant—threats to anybody who dared oppose him, usually alluding to bodily harm in the most painful manner possible. In addition, he always had to remind the other professors to send mischief-makers to the Carrows for punishment; they seemed reluctant to do so—not that Severus really blamed them. Throughout the whole ordeal, he cast disdainful looks down his nose at the gathered coworkers, all of whom gave him disdainful looks right back.

The only people unaffected by the chilly atmosphere were the Carrows, who looked positively gleeful as they offered reports on the students they had been torturing, or bragged about the Death Eater children who looked set to successfully follow in their parents' footsteps. Severus tried not to roll his eyes as he listened to Amycus recount Crabbe and Goyle's brilliant use of the Cruciatus Curse during the most recent seventh-year Dark Arts class. The two brutes, who had more or less been acting as Draco Malfoy's body guards since their first year, didn't have a brain cell between them. It was no surprise that the sole thing at which they excelled involved nothing more than questionable morals and being inarticulate thugs. Just like their fathers.

 _This place has gone to hell,_ Severus thought.

* * *

While making his dramatic departure from the staff room, a place he was eager to escape, Severus nearly tripped over Luna Lovegood. He glared at the sixth year, who was sprawled out on the hallway floor, her eyes fixed on the high ceiling. She blinked occasionally to indicate that she was still alive.

"What is the meaning of this?" He demanded.

Miss Lovegood had the nerve to ignore him.

Frustrated, Severus hissed, "Return to a vertical position this instant, or so help me, I will reorient you."

There was a long pause, and then she said dreamily, still staring upwards, "It's easier to observe the Wrackspurts if you're lying down, Professor." She tilted her head slightly to look at the Headmaster with a sincere, if rather vacant, expression on her face. "A swarm of Wrackspurts is following you. You should be careful. They cloud judgement. You can borrow my Spectrespecs if you want. They work even better if you leave them in the ice box for an hour. Just remember to take them out again. See, the colouring in the lenses condenses when exposed to the cold..."

Severus groaned inwardly as she prattled on. Luna Lovegood had always been odd, but this episode seemed over-the-top, even for her. Not to mention that if she had any self-preservation instincts, she clearly was not acting on them. He reached down, taking her by the arms and roughly yanking her to her feet and effectively shushing her. Aware that several teachers were watching the exchange from the staff room door, he whipped out his wand and pointed it in the young Ravenclaw's face.

"Desist from babbling gibberish, and get out of my sight."

She turned and walked away, completely unfazed, and Severus strode back towards his office. As the students liked to whisper, his resemblance to an overgrown bat was uncanny.

* * *

The next scene which he came upon made Severus wish that he could down a bottle of Firewhisky right then and there.

"My, my," he said in a low, quiet, and dangerous voice, "you two are facing serious consequences."

Neville Longbottom and Ginerva Weasley, unlike Lovegood, at least had the decency to look guilty and a touch fearful. It served them right, having been caught red-handed in an attempt to steal the Sword of Gryffindor—a copy, but of course, the students weren't aware of that—straight from the Headmaster's office. Severus made a mental note to change the password as soon as possible.

"The Sword of Gryffindor doesn't even belong to you," Longbottom said defiantly. He clutched the object to his chest. Severus wondered when the shy, awkward boy whom he had always bullied had grown a backbone. That was the kind of cheek that Severus would have expected from Potter. "It's not like you have any right to keep it here."

Because the miscreants had their backs turned, they missed the faint smile that danced at the mouth of Dumbledore's supposedly-sleeping portrait. Severus, however, caught the expression, and he was not so entertained. In fact, he was unbelievably tempted to just hand the thieves over for a taste of the Cruciatus. A couple of incapacitated Gryffindors seemed like a small price to pay for not having to personally deal with the mess, although tongue lashings from the portrait of his former mentor and the current Head of Gryffindor House sounded less appealing. Severus would never admit it, but Minerva could still make him feel like a thoroughly-chastised first-year.

"Be silent!" Severus commanded. "You are treading on thin ice. Stealing is a crime, and I have no qualms with expelling both of you—or worse." With that, he cast a silent summoning charm and caught the artifact in his right hand. "Now, if you do not wish for me to hex you into the next century, you will return to your common room. Immediately."

Longbottom, the idiot, actually had the audacity to open his mouth again, no doubt to make some retort that would trigger Severus into carrying out his threat. Luckily for both Headmaster and student, the Weasley girl grabbed Longbottom by the arm and dragged him from the room. Once they were gone, Severus put up a silencing charm and warded the door. He then turned on Dumbledore, who was no longer in faux slumber, and who still looked amused.

"This is not a laughing matter, Albus," he admonished. "I hope you realize that I can't let them get away with such an inexcusable stunt? I cannot protect their sorry necks if they insist on risking them, the reckless brats."

"You do have to admire their bravery," Dumbledore said.

Severus dismissed the comment with a snort. "Bravery, stupidity;"—he waved his hand—"wrapped in red and gold, they are one and the same."

The old Headmaster grew serious again. "Then what will you do?"

Naturally, Severus began pacing. After some deliberation, he said, "I will send the counterfeit Sword to be stored in Bellatrix's vault at Gringotts-"

"Bellatrix?" Dumbledore looked surprised.

"Indeed, Albus," Severus responded with a habitual sneer, "Bellatrix. It will keep her happy, make her think herself important, to be entrusted with such an item. Furthermore, should anybody go looking for the Sword there—and I do not see why anyone would—the security on her vault is as wild as she is; the intruder would likely die a most excruciating death."

"I see." Dumbledore nodded and stroked his beard a few times before pressing, "And what of Mister Longbottom and Miss Weasley?"

"They, along with Miss Lovegood-"

"Luna Lovegood?"

"Luna Lovegood," Severus confirmed impatiently. His voice was heavy with irritation. "I am certain that she was involved with their little scheme. She was tasked with creating a distraction, although it was a rather insubstantial one. Stop interrupting me."

"Of course, my boy." The corner of Dumbledore's mouth twitched. "I apologize."

Severus scowled, but continued, "Mister Longbottom, Miss Weasley, and Miss Lovegood will go into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid. Merlin knows the place is filled with enough danger to constitute punishment during the most peaceful times. Besides, all three are purebloods; I believe that I can justify sparing them a harsher fate."

As Severus took his seat behind the desk, arranging three sheets of parchment, a quill, and a container of ink in front of him, planning to write a letter to Bellatrix and a couple of detention notes, he grimly wondered what kind of mayhem the students would cause next.


	3. Discrete Delinquency

**Author's note:** Hm. This seems to be turning into a small multi-chapter. I have another idea incubating in the back of my mind as we speak (not that I'm complaining).

 **Warnings:** Swearing

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **Discrete Delinquency**

 _CONSPIRACY POSES THREAT TO WIZARDING SOCIETY_

 _by Cetus Wickroy_

 _Muggle-borns? "Magic-stealers" sounds more apropos. As everyone knows, muggles are dirty, ruthless, and uncivilized creatures, and Mudbloods are not much better. While there has always been something suspicious about the lesser members of our community, a full conspiracy plan has come into light. It has long been said that a wizard can be born to a non-wizarding family because there are hints latent of magic in his lineage; however, it turns out that these Mudbloods are simply pretending to have magical ability as a way to infiltrate wizarding society._

 _I spent several days observing these masquerading muggles, and what I found was incredibly disturbing. Authorized by the Minister, who agreed that preventative measures should be taken, Antonin Dolohov and I ..._

Severus didn't want to know what Wickroy and Dolohov had done, although he would likely find out at the next Death Eater meeting. While Wickroy was a relatively tame supporter of the Dark Lord, anything in which Dolohov partook was sure to involve a plethora of dark curses and copious amounts of gore. He turned the page, searching for an article that wasn't penned by one of the Dark Lord's lackeys; considering that _The_ _Daily_ _Prophet_ was overrun with Death Eaters, he could find no such thing. The closest he found was a page offering tips on disinfecting oneself if one were so unfortunate as to encounter a muggle-born, or, Merlin forbid, an actual muggle.

This corruption was the reason that several of the Hogwarts staff had turned to other news sources—Xenophilius Lovegood's magazine _The Quibbler_ was no less eccentric than its owner, but at least it supported the efforts of "Undesirable Number One," Harry Potter himself. Severus had to shake his head. Xenophilius was going to get himself, and possibly his daughter, into a lot of trouble. This was no time to be so blatantly speaking truth. Ridiculous though it was, the man would be much safer if he kept to printing stories about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.

Severus folded his newspaper and began half-heartedly picking away at his eggs, finding his appetite to have been rather soiled. He scanned the Great Hall, his eyes automatically landing on the Gryffindor table. Longbottom and Co. had remained mostly unscathed since the incident with the Sword, at least compared to some of their peers; the failed robbery did seem to have taught them a lesson, and—aside from regularly mouthing off during Muggle Studies—they were now employing a slightly more discrete method of delinquency.

Just that morning, Severus had left his office and was promptly assaulted by the sight of fluorescent orange graffiti which read, _"DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY NOT AFRAID OF SNAKEFACE."_ Such vandalism had been appearing all over the castle for weeks now, but the culprit had yet to be pinned down. A certain group of students seemed to be communicating somehow, although none had broken Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four. Severus theorized that they used an enchanted object of some variety, perhaps a system similar to how the Dark Lord communicated with his followers through the Dark Mark.

The Carrows hated all of it; they went practically rabid by merely thinking about the issue, tying themselves into knots over not knowing who or how, and thus being unable to issue a punishment. Severus secretly took great pleasure in the twins' distress and had no intention of helping them capture the reprobates. He almost wished that Fred and George Weasley were still at Hogwarts, just to see the agony in the Carrows' eyes as they were confronted with the Weasley boys' antics—they had driven Dolores Umbridge quite mad with their portable swamps and whatnot. Of course, that would make his life much harder as well, but Severus thought the expense would almost be worth it.

He abandoned his half-eaten breakfast and pushed back his chair, proceeding to sweep through the Great Hall—he never slunk in and out through the staff door, although sometimes he wanted to—projecting an air of supreme arrogance. More genuinely, he was immune—or perhaps more accurately, resigned—to the vitriol-filled looks he received. If _Avada Kedavra_ could be cast with the eyes, Severus would have long been dead a million times over.

Although he rarely, if not never, acted on impulses, the Headmaster made a split-second decision to stop at the Ravenclaw table. Luna Lovegood spoke up before he could open his mouth: "The Wrackspurts are still following you, Professor."

Severus disregarded the strange girl's words without a pause. "If you do, in fact, possess the wisdom that your House values," he said in a menacing voice, "you will watch your back, Miss Lovegood."

The sound of frantic whispering followed him out of the Hall.

* * *

"I had the most _infuriating_ conversation just now"—Severus looked up from the papers he was perusing—"with a very rude boy, the ever-elusive Harry Potter, and the Mudblood."

"Do not use that word!" Severus growled immediately. "How many times must I tell you?"

He heard Phineas, who was hiding just outside of the frame, sniff. "If you would rather not hear what I have to say, then that is your prerogative."

Dumbledore gave a loud cough that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. Honestly, Severus would never understand how the eccentric Headmaster found amusement in the most unamusing circumstances.

"Please continue."

"First I have a demand to make."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, papers forgotten. "What is it?" He was in no mood for games.

"I ask that you remove this unseemly covering at once." Phineas inched into view. The former Headmaster's eyes were obscured by a black blindfold.

With a dramatic eye roll, Severus took out his wand and magically removed the painted cloth. Dumbledore coughed some more in the background.

"Now please tell me of your exchange with the _Golden Trio_ "—he sneered the moniker—"preferably some time before next week."

Phineas gave him an affronted look, but didn't protest further, or worse, get up and leave.

 _Thank Merlin for small mercies,_ Severus thought drily, though the blindfold was rather concerning; Phineas would never discern the Trio's location if he couldn't see anything.

"The ignorant twits were very interested in the Sword of Gryffindor. Granger asked if it had recently been taken away for _cleaning."_ The old Slytherin had a sneer to rival Severus's. "Potter wanted to know if I could bring Dumbledore's painting to them. He is awfully daft for being The Chosen One."

Severus bit back his own laugh, finding that he quite agreed. The brat was excellent at Defence Against the Dark Arts, likely due to extensive hands-on experience, but he was a typical dunderhead, the quintessential Gryffindor. It was disappointing that the boy hadn't inherited his mother's sharp intellect. Minerva, Lily, and Granger: three generations of ravens in lion's clothing.

"Now, Phineas," Dumbledore piped up, "insults are unnecessary."

"Am I correct to believe that you were unable to grasp a sense of their whereabouts before Granger blindfolded you?" Severus interrupted, not wanting Dumbledore's admonishment to offend Phineas before they could get a straight answer out him.

Phineas sniffed again. "Yes, and their edgy neurosis is no fault of mine," he answered testily.

Dumbledore, the tactless old coot, reasoned, "In all fairness, they have many legitimate reasons to be cautious, one of those being that you are, indeed, reporting back to Severus."

"I will not be blamed for their paranoia!" Phineas walked out of his frame, yelling over his shoulder, "And I will not be visiting again!" Exactly who he would not be visiting again was unclear, but whether it was the Trio or Severus, it would throw a wrench into the plan.

There was a brief pause before the current Headmaster banged his fist on the desk. "Well done, Albus," he drawled in the most acrimonious tone he could muster. "Paranoid or not, the children are under an insurmountable degree of stress and would have eventually slipped up, thus allowing Nigellus to obtain the necessary information. And you may have peeved him out of cooperating!"

His tirade was futile, as Dumbledore had closed his eyes midway through and begun producing quiet snores, effectively shutting down the conference.

Severus stared petulantly at the portrait for a moment. Then he rose and stormed out of the office, intent on soothing his frazzled nerves by prowling the corridors and petrifying students with the sight of his threatening countenance.

 _Bloody hell._


	4. Tea with the Dark Lord

**Author's note/warning:** I have upped the rating from K+ to T. Incidentally, thank you very much to everyone who has favourited, followed, and reviewed!

 **Warnings:** Swearing and torture

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **Tea with the Dark Lord**

Severus was feeling mildly suicidal. Mildly homicidal, too, for that matter. He had been kneeling at the Dark Lord's feet for far longer than he liked to consider, and that was never a good sign. Standard protocol when summoned required Death Eaters to kneel at their master's feet, one by one if they were gathered together, until their master called them to move. The longer he left someone on the floor, the more likely it was that the individual had incurred his wrath; he enjoyed watching people squirm before sending them into unimaginable agony for reasons that were sometimes less than rational.

Thank goodness this was a fully private meeting. The Dark Lord had claimed Malfoy Manor as his headquarters, but to Severus's relief, nobody else was present. The owners of the estate were a few whom Severus especially didn't wish to see. Draco was resentful of him, as he felt that Severus had usurped Lucius's position as Number One in the Dark Lord's inner circle; Lucius was an absolute wreck and also hated Severus, which was a turn-around, as they used to be friends; and Narcissa would follow the lead of her husband, no matter that Severus had kept his Unbreakable Vow and protected Draco from death the previous year.

After what felt like an eternity, the Dark Lord bid Severus to rise. The Potions Master fortified his Occlumency shields, suppressing a wince as his muscles and joints complained about holding a cramped position for so long.

"Severus." The Dark Lord gave him a calculating look. "What school matters have you to report?"

"My Lord," Severus said, bowing his head in reverence, "the school runs smoothly, for the most part. We have had a few misbehaving students, but they have either been dealt with or remain unidentified. When we do catch them, rest assured, they will receive due punishment."

The Dark Lord absent-mindedly stroked the head of his snake. "I have already spoken with the Carrows," he said with a foreboding note in his voice.

There was a pause. "My Lord?"

 _Shit,_ thought Severus. _What does he think I've done? Damn those Carrows to hell._

"They feel that proper discipline is not being carried out, on students and faculty alike."

Comprehension dawned behind Severus's blank face. He was, essentially, in trouble for not torturing people for crimes up to, and possibly including, breathing.

"I have never known you to be _lenient,_ Severus," the Dark Lord purred softly, though a threat was clear in the wizard's words. "Especially for misdeeds such as stealing from the Headmaster's office."

Severus bowed his head again. "My Lord, I sent them into the Forbidden Forest with the oaf, Hagrid, who could not protect anyone from a flobberworm. The Forest is brimming with danger, and they are mere students. Incompetent ones, I might add."

The Dark Lord made a noncommittal humming sound.

Severus continued: "The three degenerates were all purebloods. The punishment was designed to prey on the mind, rather than the body. I did not think you would like to risk any purity being lost through physical means." He caught his mistake as soon as the words had left his mouth.

"Luckily for you, you thought correctly. However-"

With a flick of the Dark Lord's wand, Severus was on the ground, writhing in pain. He ground his teeth together. He was well-accustomed to the sensation of the Cruciatus—how every inch of him felt like it was being drenched in battery acid and set on fire, the way he hurt in places where he used to be sure there were no nerve fibres, from his earlobes to his toenails—but if anything, repeated exposure to the Unforgivable made the curse harder to endure. The torture went on for several minutes, and perhaps it would've been over sooner had Severus allowed himself to scream, but he was too stubborn for that. Instead, he focused on keeping his mouth shut and his mental shields up. The latter helped to block out some of the pain.

"-if you ever again presume to know what I do or do not want, you will sorely regret it," the Dark Lord finished coldly and finally ended the spell.

Severus was left breathing heavily on the cold marble floor. "Yes, my Lord," he gasped. "I'm very sorry."

"Rise."

Although the Dark Lord ignored his apology, Severus knew that he liked it when his Death Eaters groveled a bit. He forced his twitching muscles into action, trying not to fall over again as he stood.

"Now there are several changes and additions I want made."

"Yes, my Lord?" It seemed to be the only phrase that Severus was capable of uttering at the moment, but it was, mercifully, the only phrase necessary.

"You will issue harsher punishments on all students," the Dark Lord commanded. "On the purebloods who dare to test your authority, perhaps some Drink of Despair."

"Yes, my Lord."

Severus wanted to vomit at the thought. A long time ago, the Dark Lord had regaled him in great, gory detail with his success in making a potion that would cause "vivid waking nightmares, dehydration, and an intense, burning feeling"—the Drink of Despair. Severus himself had never seen it in use—though he possessed instructions on how to make it, he had never been ordered or desired to do so—but given how the Dark Lord crowed, its effects were sure to be very, very painful, in more ways than one. In what world the potion was less damaging than the Cruciatus, Severus did not know.

"You will begin observing teachers in their lessons to ensure that nothing... _distasteful_ is being taught."

Severus almost found it amusing to hear the Dark Lord refer to something as "distasteful." On the other hand, he was loathe to make such rounds, tame as they were, purely because they reminded him of that awful Umbridge toad.

"Yes, my Lord."

"You will send students to their common rooms immediately after dinner, unless they have earned a detention. Stops on the way will not be tolerated."

"Yes, my Lord."

 _Damn._ That would make the crime doubly severe for any mischief-makers who were caught. Though it was unlikely that the vandalism had been happening before curfew, right under the Carrows' noses, Severus couldn't be sure; he had mostly been turning a blind eye to the activity.

"You will remedy your own shortcomings as Headmaster."

"Yes, my Lord."

 _Shit, shit, shit._ It seemed that the Dark Lord was angrier than he let on. Then again, that curse had been rather strong.

"And if you discover the whereabouts of Harry Potter, you _will_ tell me." That had been the usual pre-dismissal order for the past few meetings.

"Of course, my Lord."

"Very well." The Dark Lord magically opened the doors with a bang, not dissimilar to what Severus had done in the Great Hall at the start of the term. "You may go."

With a final, respectful bow, the Severus retreated on unsteady feet. He had to force himself not to flee from the Dark Lord's presence, never mind the fact that he probably would have collapsed had tried to do so. Once outside the Manor, he promptly Apparated away.

* * *

"Severus, my boy!" Dumbledore's portrait caught him trying to quietly get back to his private quarters. "How was the meeting?"

"It was _lovely,_ Albus," he responded acerbically. "After the Dark Lord finished torturing me, we sat by the fireplace and drank tea and reminisced about old times, such as back when he still had a nose."

Dumbledore went serious at the reference to Severus's punishment. "It went poorly then?"

Evidently, Gryffindors were equally as dense in death as in life. "It went as well as meetings with sadistic, dictatorial maniacs often do."

"Was it the Cruciatus?"

Severus answered with a terse nod.

"I'm sorry, my boy." To his credit, Dumbledore actually did look sorrowful. "You should get some rest."

"Yes, I was intending to before you so kindly intercepted me." He was unmoved by the old Headmaster's display. "So if you'll excuse me…."

"Of course, my boy," Dumbledore said, nodding. "Sleep well."

Severus did not deign to reply. He slammed the door on his way out of the office.

* * *

After taking a calming draught, a pain potion, and a nerve repairing potion—he also considered drinking a bottle of hard liquor, but that wouldn't help with the Cruciatus tremors—Severus was sitting on the couch in the Headmaster's living room, brooding.

His decision to join the Death Eaters remained, hands-down, one of the biggest regrets of his life. It was paralleled only by calling Lily that despicable word. In retrospect, he had been disgustingly easy to recruit: interested in Dark Magic, a powerless loner, so quickly drawn in by the promise of being wanted, of serving a purpose, of contributing to, in Dumbledore's words, "the greater good." He had never been sold on the pureblood ideology, but given that he was a half-blood and the Dark Lord had admitted him into the group, he didn't think the issue was very serious. By the time he had realized his mistake, it was far too late to turn back; even having spied on behalf of the light, he knew that he would never, ever atone for his _stupid,_ youthful actions.

Severus briefly considered going to bed, but quickly decided against it. He wouldn't sleep anyway. Instead, he spent the night on the sofa, wallowing in self-recrimination. He was feeling moderately suicidal.


	5. Faculty Examinations

**Author's note:** I love being on break. It means I can read and write practically all day. Also, if there is anything that you would like to see, let me know and I may take you up on the suggestion!

 **Warnings:** Swearing

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **Faculty Examinations**

It was Sunday morning, a mere eight hours after Severus's painful encounter with the Dark Lord, and tomorrow he would have to start making rounds to the classrooms. Although he had tried to think about something else, Severus was still associating the looming observations with that Ministry-appointed, giggling and coughing, sugar-coated, pink-clad, evil toad who had wreaked havoc a couple of years ago.

Unlike Dolores Umbridge, however, who enjoyed power-tripping the other professors and strived to fire those she didn't like, Severus found no joy in the task. He had no wish to know of any "suspicious" faculty activity, he had no wish to interact with the other professors more than necessary, and he certainly had no wish to fire any them. On the contrary, he needed them at Hogwarts to act as a buffer between the students and the Carrows—and, since Severus had to follow the Dark Lord's new orders, between the students and Severus himself.

He looked around the Great Hall as he sipped at his fourth mug of coffee. The children studiously avoided looking at the staff table now, knowing that their murderer of a Headmaster had a tendency to scan the Hall during mealtimes. Apparently they thought he would _Avada Kedavra_ them on the spot if they accidentally met his eyes. Dunderheads. Even in his worst mood, he wasn't quite _that_ volatile. He also had more finesse than to stand up in a room of several hundred people, the majority of whom were set against him, and start firing off Killing Curses.

He brought his attention back to the room. At the Slytherin tables, the students were contentedly chattering away. Most of the seventh-years were engaged in conversation with others in their year. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were laughing inanely at something Draco Malfoy had said, while Pansy Parkinson seemed to be flirting with Theodore Nott, oblivious to his lack of interest; Daphne Greengrass and her younger sister Astoria were engaged in a semi-heated debate with Blaise Zabini, and Tracey Davis was attempting to moderate the conversation. Clearly, the Slytherins were still feeling very secure in their position as the superlative house. They were the only ones at ease.

Most of the Ravenclaws had either brought books to read at the table or were immersed in scholastic discussions. They regularly paused whatever they were doing to cast anxious looks over their shoulders, sometimes touching their wands to ensure that they were still accessible at a millisecond's notice. This nervous fidgeting was borne from the warning that Severus had issued to Luna Lovegood.

A small amount of talk came from the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, but for the most part, both Houses ate in silence. A few of them had decided to follow the Ravenclaws' example and read—although the they had chosen fictional works, whereas their more studious peers had opted for textbooks. The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs often exchanged glances with their respective housemates: These looks were mutinous in the case of the former and miserable in the case of the latter.

A year ago, Severus would have died for the reserved mood that now pervaded the Great Hall; now he found that he would give anything for the hubbub of rambunctious students, if only for the indication that everybody wasn't living under a—fairly literal—dark cloud.

 _I hate the Dark Lord,_ Severus thought, not for the first time. After a moment's consideration, he added, also not for the first time, _I hate myself._

* * *

Severus returned to his office, _Scourgifying_ _"DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY STILL RECRUITING"_ from a corridor along the way. He was already exhausted, and all he had done was prowl the halls, and it was barely mid-morning. Of course, staying up the entire night wasn't helping him feel better, and drinking staggering amounts of black coffee for breakfast—he had felt too queasy to ingest anything with significant caloric value—was probably having a negative affect as well.

"Ah, Severus." The portrait of the aforementioned Dumbledore was awake, much to Severus's irritation. "I missed you earlier."

"Yes," the Headmaster said, "much to my good fortune."

"Are you still feeling unwell from your audience with Voldemort?" Dumbledore, the insensitive fool, asked.

"Stop saying that name," Severus hissed, his other hand automatically reaching to grasp the forearm where the Dark Mark was burned into his skin. "To answer your question, I hardly think that anybody would be right as rain only ten hours after being subjected to five minutes of the Cruciatus Curse."

"You should visit Madam Pomfrey," the portrait said, trying to be helpful.

Severus immediately rejected the idea: "No."

As a certified Healer, the Poppy could not refuse to treat him, but she could pin him with a look that conveyed her low opinion. Severus had no desire to see that expression up close unless absolutely necessary. "You are despicable" was a recurring theme these days, and there was only so much a person could take before needing a time-out.

"But Severus-"

"No."

Dumbledore sighed. "Very well," he conceded before slightly bending the topic of discussion. "What did Vol"—he caught himself when Severus glared—"he want?"

"He wants me to increase the severity of disciplinary tactics, force the students back to their common rooms immediately following dinner, monitor the teachers in their natural habitat, remedy my own 'shortcomings as Headmaster,' and find Potter." Severus counted each item on a long finger.

"'Monitor the teachers in their natural habitat?'" Dumbledore echoed. That damned twinkle was back in his eye. "Oh, you will have quite the time with Minerva."

"She will be thrilled, I'm sure," Severus answered drily.

"What harsher punishments do you intend to introduce?"

"I should clarify that the Dark Lord was speaking primarily with pureblooded miscreants in mind." He began pacing back and forth in front of the desk. "I've considered the issue, and I do not like my options. They are, however, far kinder than the Dark Lord's suggestion."

"Which was…?" Dumbledore prompted.

"I do not wish to disclose that information," Severus said shortly.

He ceased his pacing and gathered some paperwork into his arms. For once, it was his turn to shut down the conversation.

"I will be announcing these changes after dinner. Will I live beyond that?" He answered his own rhetorical question, "All we can do is wait and see."

And then he retreated to his chambers to work away from dead, prying Headmasters.

* * *

To Severus's chagrin, he was indeed still alive come Monday; he wasn't eliminating the chance that someone would try hexing or assassinating him, though. Unsurprisingly, the students had been upset to hear that they were losing several hours of relative freedom—even the Slytherins had looked looked disgruntled at that news. The Ravenclaws, Gryffindors, and Hufflepuffs had been further distressed when he announced that punishments were going to be more austere.

As per usual, Severus had received savage looks from his coworkers. Rage emanated from the non-Slytherin Heads of House in particular, and he continued to endure their silent, greater-than-usual wrath throughout breakfast the next morning. Perhaps it was cowardly, but he was relieved to have decided against mentioning the impending faculty examinations.

 _May as well leave some room for things to continue downhill._

* * *

Minerva was expounding the theory behind inanimate-to-animate transfiguration when Severus rudely barged into her classroom. When they saw who it was, the students shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Their teacher looked at Severus as though he were a particularly revolting bit of something that she had almost stepped in.

"Severus," Minerva greeted him coolly. "Can I help you with anything?"

He gave her his best smirk, the one reminiscent of a shark about to attack. "No, I am merely here to observe," he said. When she continued to regard him without responding, he raised a sardonic eyebrow and added, "Continue."

She drew herself up to her full height and turned back to face the sea of students. Some of them were now talking _sotto voce,_ but they were quickly silenced when she gave them a stern look. "As I was saying…."

While specific memories of most classes had faded, Severus still vividly recalled his transfiguration lessons. Minerva possessed the Gift of the Lecture and could make quite an impact on her students—especially when she turned herself into a tabby cat. Given that Animagus transformation was incredibly difficult and therefore uncommon, even some purebloods were amazed by that demonstration.

When the practical portion of the class began, Severus started walking between the desks, stopping occasionally. To say that the whole affair made the children uptight would have been an understatement; a couple of them actually dropped their wands in fear when they realized that their Death Eater Headmaster was standing directly behind them. After spending a minute watching some poor Hufflepuff fail miserably at turning his pincushion into a hedgehog—his performance no doubt impeded by nerves—Severus turned back to the front of the room, slowly making his way up to the front as he spoke.

"Tell me, Minerva," he sneered, "do you ever tire of teaching such maladroit nitwits? After all, transfiguration is a rather easy and unsophisticated discipline; the most bumbling simpleton should be able to grasp it."

Severus thought that insulting the students and completely undermining the skill to which Minerva had dedicated her entire life in a matter of two sentences was sufficiently cruel. The Dark Lord was, no doubt, planning to invade his mind to confirm that he had followed the Dark Lord's orders. It would please him to see Severus act like an unmitigated asshole towards the other professors, rather than just ignoring them. He probably got bonus points for humiliating them in their own classrooms.

The students exchanged uneasy looks. The former Potion instructor's jibes at their intellect was not unusual, but they had never witnessed him verbally abuse a colleague—and McGonagall, no less.

Sheer fury burned in the Transfiguration Mistress's eyes as she said, "This is a _school,_ Headmaster. We are here to _learn."_ She spoke slowly and enunciated certain words, as if she assumed him too stupid to understand this statement of the obvious.

Severus met her smouldering gaze with his own emotionless, black pupils. "I was unaware," he drawled sarcastically, sounding almost bored. "The lack of results from your students suggests that not much learning is taking place here. Is that due to their thick-headedness or your own ineptitude as a teacher?"

"With all due respect"—though Severus knew that respect was the last thing on Minerva's mind—"not everybody has an affinity for the _art_ of transfiguration."

Something in her expression shifted with her retort, and Severus decided that, if he wanted to leave with certain parts of his anatomy still intact, it would be wise to stop now.

"Transfiguration is not an art, and therefore, no affinity should be necessary." With that final, derisive remark, the Headmaster left the room, surrounded by the dramatic sweeping of his robes.

He needed a drink.


	6. Discipline

**Author's note:** I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter up. First I did a lot of writing, deleting, re-writing, and re-structuring, and then there was a scene that I tried my hardest to avoid notating. (I did get eventually get it onto the page and it escaped being edited out.) I will aim to be more timely with the next chapter!

Roni2010: Thank you for the reviews! I must admit that it is tempting to make the final chapters AU and give Snape a happy ending. I think that McGonagall would try to hex off a few very important body parts, or maybe set his hair on fire, or both. If provoked enough, I bet she'd have a good chance at succeeding, too.

Snapeangst4life: Thank you for the review! Snape strikes me as somewhat ambiguous, even once you know the full story. I have a lot of fun writing him, and I love hearing feedback on his characterization. I'm so glad you're enjoying the story!

 **Warnings:** Swearing, corporal punishment

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **Discipline**

Severus was pacing again, having just come back from observing a fifth-year Divination class, taught by Professor Trelawney. It had been the final item on his staff-check to-do list.

Dumbledore's acrylic eyes moved back and forth like a pendulum as he watched Severus, at least pretending to listen as the younger wizard embarked on a rambling vent:

"… I suspect he was indulging in fantasies of decapitating me. He will have to join the queue. Wouldn't that be something for the Hogwarts rumour mill? Which, if you care to know, seems to be functioning as well as it did when I was a student. I have impeccable memory, and I assure you, I did not even threaten to dismember McGonagall's owl. And Trelawney, that woman has some nerve—or is it reckless stupidity? Remind me, was she a Gryffindor perchance? In any case, she is off her rocker …"

* * *

Severus had spent the past week and a half conducting surprise staff checks. Warnings about his new pastime were quick to circulate, and it had set a lot of students on edge, wondering when the Headmaster would be stopping by to examine their class and verbally eviscerate them and their teacher. Details of his confrontation with Minerva had escaped at an equally rapid pace, and by lunchtime that day, the entire student body knew that he had threatened the Transfiguration professor with "hexes, poison, sacking, and even death!" He was rather irritated by this inflation of the truth, if unsurprised.

Longbottom and Co. had promptly switched from broadcasting their dislike for the Dark Lord to broadcasting their dislike for Severus. Severus had found _"DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY HATES SAPE"_ splattered on the door to the Potions classroom, while the door to the Great Hall was graced with the words, _"SEVERUS SNAPE IS DEATH-EATING SCUM."_ He was tempted to approach the students and asked if they had ever referenced a dictionary or thesaurus—"anathemizes" would be far more poetic than "hates"—but given that the students in question were Gryffindors, the answer was most assuredly "no." What was it he'd said to James Potter all those years ago? "If you'd rather be brawny than brainy?"

The staff themselves had displayed varied reactions to Severus's classroom rounds. Some were anxious, some where angry, and others vacillated between the two—and none were pleased. If Severus had to rank them, Minerva and Filius were probably tied for the title of Most Upset. If that was the competition, Slughorn came in last, seeing as he didn't concern himself with anything other than his own reputation.

Like the rumour mill, Slughorn's priorities were another thing that hadn't changed since Severus was a student. Severus's own goal when he had joined the Hogwarts personnel was to be a better Head of House than his own had been. Aside from fostering his Potions abilities, Severus had found Slughorn to be quite negligent, and Severus was pleased with how he himself managed the young snakes. He was an advocate for them, against the scorn of the other Houses, and they repaid him with respect and loyalty.

Horace Slughorn might have been Severus's most disliked teacher currently employed, if it weren't for Sybill Trelawney. Not only was her melodramatic doom-and-gloom—which was likely exacerbated by the current political climate—endlessly annoying, seeing the Divination professor recalled a series of memories that Severus preferred to think about as little as possible. Specifically, she reminded him of the prophecy, the one that had triggered his frenetic appeal to Dumbledore—they'd probably been ice skating in hell that day; Severus Snape did not do "frenetic"—and that in turn reminded him that Lily was dead and it was his fault.

Hence why Severus had uncharacteristically procrastinated visiting Trelawney's class. When at last he could not avoid the ordeal, it went as well as he had anticipated. In his opinion, it would have been more ideal if the centaur had taken over the whole position, or better yet, if the subject had been removed from the offered courses entirely.

"Catastrophe!" Sybill had cried the moment Severus entered the room. "Terrible things, terrible things ahead…. Death! And pain, terrible pain! And darkness! True darkness!"

"What's the difference between true and false darkness?" one of the Slytherins had sniggered quietly.

Severus had snarled, his poor mood augmented by the insect-like witch's hovering, "I will give you pain if you do not withdraw this instant!"

Merlin only knew what that comment would emerge as after being passed from student to student, like in a giant game of telephone, but it had served its purpose by immediately silencing the babbling woman. Since she rarely attended meals in the Great Hall, Minerva would probably go check on Sybill later, just to make sure that the eccentric professor had not been literally ripped apart by the Headmaster.

* * *

Once Severus had exhausted his battery of grievances, Dumbledore's portrait mildly commented, "Sybill was not in Gryffindor House, she-"

"Could have fooled me," Severus interrupted sullenly.

He plunked himself gracelessly down into the Headmaster's chair and summoned a pile of the children's mail to be searched through. His vehement monologue had not relieved him of his foul humour, and he considered setting the whole stack alight without even scanning the contents. The little urchins deserved it.

Luckily for the students, this line of thought was interrupted by Severus's privacy wards alerting him that someone wanted admission to the office.

Severus waved his wand, canceling the spells he'd placed. He sent a signal to the gargoyle to move aside and listened intently to the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs. There were two people, and he guessed that one of them was being dragged along against their will. One of the Carrows with a student, he guessed.

His hypothesis was proved correct when Alecto burst into the room without knocking—Severus assumed that she was both too stupid and too ill-mannered for such a common courtesy to have ever occurred to her. Alecto was manhandling a girl, whom Severus vaguely recognized as being one of the first-years.

"Found her in the restricted section of the library," Alecto cackled, relinquishing her grasp on the girl's upper arm by shoving her to the ground. "She didn't have a permission slip or anything, she was trespassing."

Severus leaned over the desk, raising an eyebrow and pinning the girl with a sinister look. "Indeed? How"—he paused for dramatic effect— _"inadmissible."_

"I was just looking at the titles!" she wailed fearfully. "I wasn't even going to touch any of them, I was just curious, I swear!"

"I am neither obligated to listen to nor interested in hearing your lachrymose and appallingly feeble defences."

These words caused the eleven-year-old to sob harder. Severus felt the need to go wash his hands and maybe down a potion with antihistaminic properties; he was allergic to emotional children.

"Enough of your pathetic caterwauling." He sneered at her. "What is your blood status?"

The girl took a moment, trying to stem the flow of tears, before answering, "Pureblood. Monica Salus."

There was no way to evade the Dark Lord's order, not that Severus could see. He was not, of course, going to take up his master's suggestion and use Drink of Despair. From what he could tell, it would be no kinder than the Cruciatus, no matter what its creator thought. He was also reluctant to turn his wand on the brats, as he would then be expected to use Dark spells, and he wasn't about to cast _Sectumsempra_ on defenceless students.

After a great deal of deliberation, Severus had finally concluded that good old-fashioned corporal punishment was the safest route for all concerned. The Dark Lord could not complain about pure blood being spilled, but he also couldn't he accuse Severus of shying away from administering physical consequences. Meanwhile, the children would not be scarred for life, just humiliated and sore for a few days. When Severus ran this line of thinking past Dumbledore, the portrait had nodded sombrely, and Severus took the silent reaction as acceptance—or perhaps it was resignation.

Alecto had stepped to the side and was eagerly waiting to see the Headmaster give the girl her comeuppance. "Don't think your blood status exempts you from punishment," she exclaimed gleefully.

Severus turned his stern look onto the Deputy Headmistress, forcing himself not to say something nasty about her useless commentary.

"Collect yourself and bend over the desk," he instructed curtly, redirecting his attention to the young pureblood. He absently noted that if she had been in Slytherin, she would have gotten away with her indiscretion. How the tables had turned.

He stood and casually transfigured a quill into a disciplinary cane, watching the girl's eyes widen with renewed fright. He himself began to feel increasingly uncomfortable, a feeling that took rather more effort to ignore than he was willing to admit. For all he enjoyed maintaining his Evil Bat of the Dungeons reputation—which included unfairly deducting points from every house but his own and reducing seventh-years to tears—he did not and would never have any interest in striking students with anything other than his sharp turn of phrase. Just thinking about doing so reminded him too much of his own father.

He had sworn as a young boy that he would not be like Tobias Snape. As he grew up, this resolve had been unwittingly abandoned: He was bitter, cold, cutting, had a temper, and found solace in the bottle—although he did not do so as often as Tobias, and inebriation tended to make him more virulent towards himself than to others. If he were honest, the greatest difference between him and his father was that Severus did not hit children. That had been the last, unbroken promise to himself.

But here he was. "Keep still," was all the warning he provided. He purposefully neglected to mention how many strokes he would be administering; it was more effective to let wrongdoers panic, wondering when their chastisement would be over. Being a Death Eater had taught him that much.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Alecto looked disappointed when Severus announced that he was finished. "That's it?" she whined.

Miss Salus clearly did not agree with the Carrow's assessment, as the caning had reduced her to hysterical wailing again. To his credit, he thought, Severus had taken her age, size, and the severity of the infraction into account when determining how harsh to make the punishment, instead of doling out a one-size-fits-all thrashing.

"I assure you, that was sufficient. Of course," he added mockingly, "if you do not believe me, you may experience the penalty for your self."

Lacking in intellect though she was, Alecto seemed to understand that this was not her domain and that Severus could, and would, absolutely turn his disciplinary methods onto her. She unwillingly submitted to his authority, muttering under her breath in dissent.

Severus returned the cane to its previous existence as a quill. "Know that six strokes is only a harbinger of what will befall you should this incident repeat itself," he intoned silkily. "You would do well to keep your nose out things that do not concern you."

"Yes, sir," the first-year managed to choke out.

"You are dismissed," he said. He sat down and pointedly started shuffling through the abandoned pile of mail that lay on his desk. "Alecto, return Miss Salus to her common room."

The moment the two were gone, Severus erected his usual privacy wards and silencing spell, before returning to the work in front of him.

"Before you admonish me for my cruelty," he growled without looking up, "do keep in mind that the Dark Lord is a master Legilimens, and the Carrows also seem to be keeping him well-informed of my behaviour."

Dumbledore let out a long sigh. "I am not blaming you, my boy," he said sadly. "I know you have a dangerous role to play and that you must sometimes do questionable things for good reasons."

For a long time, the only sound was Severus opening letters, re-rolling the parchments, and dropping the approved mail into a basket. He operated mostly on autopilot, devoting the majority of his mental energy to reflecting on his poor life choices.

The Headmaster was about to leave for dinner when the portrait of his predecessor spoke up again: "For the record, you are not your father."

Severus froze. "I never said I was," he replied.

Then he descended the stairs and began making his way to the Great Hall.

Damn Albus for knowing exactly what he was thinking.


	7. Christmas Eve with the Dark Lord

**Author's note:** So much for being prompt with getting this chapter up. Meh. I'm not sure how happy I am with this. It feels to me like you can hear the gears grinding. Well, please review! The Forest of Dean will be coming up next.

all ur fave characters in one: Thank you for the review! I think the lack of info on Hogwarts in DH is what drew me to the idea. There's a clear trajectory, but plenty of room for filling in the blanks.

Snapeangst4life: Thank you! Your review is definitely not too long. I love hearing what people have to say! It was the corporal punishment scene that I was uncertain about, and I'm relieved to hear that it works. The way I see his character, I think he's pretty much resigned to the idea that he could die, and perhaps even thinks that his death during the war is inevitable. There are a lot of things that could go wrong with this game that he's playing, and Voldemort isn't kind to traitors. If he did survive, I could see him leaving Hogwarts and opening an apothecary somewhere, trying to live a peaceful life in which he can just mess around with potions, maybe create some new spells, and preferably not be subjected to dunderheads. I've now got some notes scribbled down for his death scene, though, so it's more strongly looking like it'll follow the cannon.

 **Warnings:** Swearing, implied torture, allusions to rape

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **Christmas Eve with the Dark Lord**

The fall term wrapped up without complications. Most of the children had opted to return home for the holidays, no doubt eager to escape the toxic chill that seemed to pervade the castle, a chill not entirely caused by the Dementors, which patrolled the grounds at all hours of the day.

The vacating students were sent off with a stern speech from their minacious Headmaster. As he had warned at the Welcoming Feast, Severus had assigned one of the Dark Lord's minions to monitor each family whose child was leaving. Most of the spies were either minor Death Eaters or vocal sympathizers. Severus had instructed them not to be too transparent, but he suspected that some were going to reveal themselves unwittingly, due to not having enough grey matter to facilitate subtlety.

Those who did stay at Hogwarts would be well-looked after, as nearly the entire staff was spending Christmas at the school. Severus thought that they were not only safeguarding the remaining children, but also trying to prevent the building from being annihilated by Death Eaters over the break.

As for the Severus himself, he intended to spend the holidays alternately pacing in his office, probably whilst ranting to Dumbledore, and passed out on the floor from drinking too much Firewhisky. He expected that there would be a Death Eater meeting or two thrown into the mix to keep things from getting monotonous.

* * *

True to form, the Dark Lord called his inner circle together late into Christmas Eve. Severus was indulging in a rare episode of sleep when an excruciating pain woke him up. The sensation began in his left forearm and quickly spread up to his shoulder, and the agony seemed to be intensifying by the second.

" _Shit,"_ he swore out loud. He followed that up with several more colourful oaths as he scrambled to put on his Death Eater robes. Fantasies about burning the bloody uniform streamed through his head as he rushed away from the mute, shadowed castle. He felt a nervous tingle in his stomach; the Dark Lord was apparently very, very upset. The Mark hadn't burned so ferociously in a while.

The Malfoys, the Lestranges, and Selwyn were already seated at the long stone table in the meeting chamber when Severus arrived. The Dark Lord stood at a tall window behind the chair at the head of the table, and Severus promptly lowered himself to kneel at the wizard's feet.

"My Lord."

Only his honed self-control stopped him from exhaling loudly in relief when the Dark Lord ordered him to him to stand within a reasonable time frame.

"Severus. Rise. Be seated."

He sat in the chair to the Dark Lord's left, directly across from Bellatrix, bowing his head in reverence like the others. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see Draco giving him an award-worthy scowl. The boy was still in a snit.

Then again, Draco was usually in a snit. Ever since he arrived at Hogwarts, Draco had possessed the same aristocratic arrogance as his father, thinking that he was entitled to whatever he wanted, purely because he was a Malfoy. "My father will hear about this" seemed to be a favourite phrase. Unfortunately for him, Severus was not intimidated by self-righteous children.

More Death Eaters began to filter in at a rapid pace. Severus noted that the Dark Lord didn't make anybody kneel for prolonged periods of time. Insofar, it didn't seem to be their fault that their master was in such a temper, although he knew that the Dark Lord would have punished his followers because the sun did not revolve around the earth, if that angered him so, no matter that the Death Eaters did not control the workings of the universe.

When all but two were assembled, the Dark Lord stood behind the head chair and glanced at the empty seats further down.

"We are missing the Carrows," he hissed, quite literally. "When they do see fit to make an appearance…." he left the threat dangling, and several of the Death Eaters shuddered.

It was another couple minutes before Alecto and Amycus came stumbling in: They looked dreadfully unkempt and reeked of alcohol; they had been celebrating a bit too hard, apparently. If Severus weren't so focused on Occluding, he would have smirked, content with this further proof that he was of superior mind to the Carrows. At least _he_ had the sense to take a sobering potion if summoned while intoxicated.

The two idiots collapsed in a graceless heap in front of the unamused Dark Lord. "My Lord," they both slurred, not quite together. If possible, the Dark Lord's contempt seemed to triple. The length of the silence in itself was painful.

" _Crucio,_ " he said at last, neatly stepping around the twins' flailing limbs and seating himself at the table, staring stoically ahead as if bored, as if the two were not worth his attention.

The Death Eaters followed their master's example and turned away from the display. Their expressions ranged from disturbed—like Draco—to madly ecstatic—like Bellatrix. Severus felt a grim pleasure that the Carrows were on the receiving end of their favourite spell.

Brother and sister remained on the floor once the Dark Lord felt that they were sufficiently punished, too out of sorts to join the rest of the gathering. The Dark Lord continued to ignored them and launched into the reason for the meeting: "Harry Potter and his Mudblood were in Godric's Hollow earlier this evening."

Severus felt his shoulders tense ever so slightly. A few of the other Death Eaters exchanged glances.

Bellatrix was quick to say, "My Lord, let me go to him, let me bring him to you."

She was practically begging, her voice laden with worship of an inordinate degree. Severus thought that the Dark Lord fanatic might be the only person whom he loathed more than James Potter and Sirius Black, not counting the Dark Lord himself.

"While I appreciate your enthusiasm, Bella," the Dark Lord said, petting the witch on the head with a skeletal hand, as though she were a deranged puppy, "alas, it is too late. Harry Potter has evaded my clutches once again."

The Dark Lord suddenly stood up and began firing hexes, seemingly aiming for nothing in particular. Even his right hand woman ducked to avoid being caught by the onslaught.

And then he was calm again, speaking with the same cold detachment as before. He didn't offer any explanation of what exactly had transpired, and his Death Eaters valued their lives too much to ask.

"I want a guard stationed at Godric's Hollow, should Harry Potter return to the location. Perhaps"—his red-eyed gaze swept around the table—"Lucius."

Heads turned towards the man in question, who looked a bit stricken. Severus, and everybody else, knew that this was not an opportunity for redemption, but another way to make mockery of the blonde-haired wizard. Despite being moronic enough to venture there in the first place, even Potter could not be so foolish as to return after encountering the Dark Lord. In the off chance that he did show up, Lucius did not have a wand and thus could neither attack nor defend. The most he could do would be to press the Dark Mark and call for reinforcements.

"Of course I will go, if my Lord wishes it," Lucius said after swallowing several times.

Severus caught Draco directing another glower at him. He had to restrain from rolling his eyes.

 _Ten points from Slytherin for being an annoying, predictable little git,_ he thought.

* * *

Severus once again curbed a relieved breath when the Dark Lord issued a dismissal; there were some striking similarities between a Death Eater meeting and a Hogwarts Staff meeting, he thought—barring the fact that one had to closely guard one's life during the former—as both had dunderheads in attendance, and both could be exceedingly boring.

The only thing that had piqued Severus's interest was Rookwood and Macnair's report: Luna Lovegood had been successfully abducted off the Hogwarts Express, and her father was distraught. The Dark Lord intended to use the girl as incentive to stop Xenophilius from printing "support Harry Potter" articles in _The Quibbler._

Although he had suspected that such a thing might happen, Severus hadn't been aware that there was a concrete plan of action. He was dubious that the Dark Lord would actually release Miss Lovegood, even if Xenophilius complied with the Dark Lord's terms, and he made a mental note to discuss the issue with Dumbledore's portrait. Likely, there was nothing that could be done, but he would think on the matter.

Aside from the Carrows, none of the Death Eaters were rendered incapacitated, which was a feat in itself. The twins were sent away after another prolonged dose of the Cruciatus and a clear warning of what would happen if they ever again arrived in such a state. Severus found himself hoping that the two got splinched while trying to Apparate back to the school.

"Severus," the Dark Lord said when the Headmaster got up. "Stay."

"Yes, my Lord." Severus sat back down, squelching the apprehension that tried to assert itself. He watched impassively as each of the Death Eaters bowed to the Dark Lord again and murmured their reverence, before making themselves scarce. Draco managed one last glare as he followed his parents from the room.

When they were alone, the Dark Lord slipped into the seat across from Severus, the one previously occupied by Bellatrix. _"Legilimens,"_ he whispered.

The Dark Lord searched for moments in which the Headmaster was disciplining students and interrogating faculty. Severus let him view those memories, carefully shielding his true thoughts and feelings and fabricating more neutral ones in their place. He also hid his conversations with Albus and the interactions with Phineas Nigellus.

When the Dark Lord withdrew from his aggressive mental probing, Severus felt the beginnings of a nasty headache. He cursed himself for not having had the foresight to bring a headache-relief potion.

"You followed my instructions," the Dark Lord said, sounding as approving as was possible for him.

"Of course, my Lord," Severus said, trying to ignore the throbbing in his temples. "My only desire is to serve you." _Ugh._

"Hm. Yes." The Dark Lord gave Severus a considering look before saying, "You are permitted to enjoy yourself more, Severus."

"My Lord?" he asked with a slight, questioning lift of his eyebrows, although he wasn't particularly interested in clarification. The Dark Lord granted his Death Eaters atrociously-twisted rewards, and any activities that he permitted his followers to "enjoy" weren't activities in which Severus desired to engage.

"No one would object should you wish to _use_ a young half-blood or two for your own gratification."

Severus had to pause for a moment, tightening his Occlumency shields, lest the strength of his revulsion cause him to vomit. There was no doubt in his mind as to what the Dark Lord meant. If any normal, sane person had made such insinuations, Severus would have hexed them on the spot. Sadly, hexing was not an option with this psychotic megalomaniac.

He grappled a bit with what to say, but he knew that showing gratitude—or begging for forgiveness, whichever the situation called for—would never go amiss.

"Thank you, my Lord. I may do that."

The Dark Lord nodded his head once. "Continue with routine staff checks," he ordered. "I do not trust any of the muggle-loving imbeciles to keep their filthy thoughts to themselves."

"Yes, my Lord."

"And if you discover Harry Potter's whereabouts…"

"I will come directly to you, my Lord."

"You are dismissed."

As he left the Manor, for the second time since the Dark Lord had appointed him as Headmaster, Severus felt like his skin was crawling. He was going to take a headache potion, and then he was going to take a very long shower.


	8. The Forest of Dean

**Author's note:** Sorry for the long wait. Again. I don't really have a good excuse, to be honest, except for a tendency towards procrastination. Please review!

 **Warnings:** Swearing

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 298-302 and 553 of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows_ while writing this.

 **The Forest of Dean**

It was the evening after Severus had been so rudely awakened by the Dark Lord's summons. After returning to Hogwarts, he had been too on-edge to go back to sleep and had instead roamed the corridors for the few hours until morning. Come sunrise, he had retreated to his private chambers and crashed on the sofa, where he had stayed until noon. He'd spent the rest of the day in his sitting room, brooding over the messy situation, summoning a house elf when he got hungry, and he was just now reporting to Dumbledore.

"Potter and Granger were in Godric's Hollow last night." Severus was stationary for once, standing in front of the portrait with his arms crossed, glaring at the old Headmaster.

"Hm, yes," said Dumbledore thoughtfully, "I suppose that is a logical place to venture."

"Logical?" Severus spat. "Foolish, more like! Potter is a moron. What did he do, owl the Dark Lord requesting that the Potter Hunt be put on hold so he could take a trip down memory lane? Even he should be able to see that he is operating on limited time, that this is _war,_ and that lives are at stake, but _no._ The brat is just like his father: Stubborn, selfish, and arrogant. Fame went to his head the moment he set foot in the wizarding world!"

Dumbledore was unimpressed by this display of temper. "Will you ever look past old grudges, Severus?" he asked in a scolding tone.

"I apologize for not thinking that the brat is the second coming of Merlin," Severus responded snidely, intentionally side-stepping the question.

He knew—he had always known—that judging the boy based on his father's merits was childish, but he had never claimed to possess great quantities of emotional maturity; nor had he ever claimed to be a good person, in fact, he knew that he was not. To consolidate his feelings, the Potter Senior look-alike did also resemble his good-for-nothing father in terms of personality. Why _shouldn't_ he hate the boy?

"Besides," he said, turning the accusation onto the portrait of his predecessor, "why are my impressions of _Lily's_ son any of your concern? He is fated to die soon anyway—in a very strategic fashion, of course."

Dumbledore looked pained, uncharacteristically averting his eyes and seeming to be at a loss for words.

The silence was just as well. Severus didn't want to hear whatever placating drivel was on the tip of Dumbledore's tongue. No doubt the old wizard had good intentions, but he was an insensitive meddler, and his grandfatherly airs had never fooled the Potions Master. Of course, he couldn't be too hard on Dumbledore, or at least he couldn't mean it; the man had given him his second chance, after all.

Severus glared for another moment before beginning his deeply-entrenched habit of pacing.

"Headmaster!" The voice was accompanied by the sound of running footsteps.

Severus Snape was not a man easily caught off guard, but he was certainly surprised to see Phineas Nigellus rushing into the frame. Phineas hadn't been seen in the office since Dumbledore had laid on the affront that broke the hippogriff's back, and Severus had given up on the old Slytherin's return.

"They are camping in the Forest of Dean!"

 _For Merlin's sake, of all the places,_ Severus thought huffily. He had been to the Forest of Dean once before—with his parents—and had intended never to go back.

"The Mudblood-"

The stupid portrait never learned. "Do not use that word!"

"The Granger girl, then," Phineas corrected himself, seemingly too pleased with the information he had gleaned to be more than mildly offended, "mentioned the place as she opened her bag and I heard her!"

"Good. Very good!" Dumbledore exclaimed. He looked thrilled that his plan was moving forward. "Now, Severus, the sword! Do not forget that it must be taken under conditions of need and valour—and he must not know that you gave it! If Voldemort should read Harry's mind and see you acting for him-"

"I know," Severus said shortly, scowling. He didn't know which annoyed him more: Dumbledore's use of the Dark Lord's name, the assumption that he would forget such fundamental details, or the overly-exuberant tone that implied an exclamation point at the end of each sentence.

He strode over to Dumbledore's portrait and opened it as though it were a door. Behind lay an niche that contained the real Sword of Gryffindor, which Dumbledore had placed there after he had used it to destroy the cursed ring.

"And you still aren't going to tell me why it's so important to give Potter the Sword?" Severus tried asking one last time as he donned a heavy traveling cloak.

"No, I don't think so," Dumbledore said. "He will know what to do with it. And Severus, be careful, they may not take kindly to your appearance after the George Weasley mishap."

The Headmaster's scowl would have deepened, if that were possible. "Don't worry, Dumbledore," he said on his way out the door, "I have a plan."

* * *

Luckily for Severus, the Forest of Dean had not undergone any drastic upheavals in the many years since he had last visited. There was a small lake, which was only partially frozen. It was straight-forward enough for Severus, made silent and unnoticeable by a handful of charms and spells, to melt a hole in the ice, immerse the sword, and refreeze the water.

Severus paused for a moment to think of any case in which the children might have seen him cast a Patronus. None came to mind: He was always very careful not to use that method of communication—it would give away his true political leanings, which would literally be the kiss of death for a double agent—and Patronuses weren't taught in Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, so he had never been required to demonstrate the spell when he held that teaching position.

" _Expecto Patronum,_ " He whispered. Silver mist shot from his wand, quickly taking the shape of a doe. "Find Harry Potter and bring him to the lake," he instructed. He was going to use reckless Gryffindor curiosity to his advantage.

Severus followed the Patronus as she bounded off, feeling secure that between his magical concealments, the trees, and the endless black of the night, he would not be seen. He followed the doe quite a distance before she substantially slowed her pace and came to a full stop, her silver-white form lustrous and haunting. Time felt like it was suspended as she stood there, staring into the distance with her head held proudly erect; then she turned and walked deliberately away, breaking the moment.

And then the Potter spawn shimmered into existence. He must have just breached the wards around the Trio's campsite. As Severus was counting on, the doe had captured his interest enough for him to investigate. Severus couldn't tell if the boy recognized the animal as a Patronus, but it didn't make a difference either way.

Potter eagerly followed the doe, who led him into the heart of the forest and to the lake, and, unbeknownst to him, the Sword. With a final look at the young wizard behind her, she vanished, her task complete. Darkness settled into the place she had left.

" _Lumos,_ " Potter whispered, the word nearly swallowed by the stillness. The tip of his wand ignited.

Severus rolled his eyes as emotions flit across the boy's face: surprise, confusion, worry, and contemplation, all clear as day. He was a stereotypical Gryffindor, wearing his heart on his sleeve.

The Headmaster watched as his former student perused the area, assisted by the Wand-Lighting Charm. To his relief—for he had better things to do than look on while Dumbledore's Golden Boy literally fumbled around in the dark—it didn't take too long for Potter's eye to be caught by a glint of silver underneath the ice.

The boy dropped to his knees at the pool's edge and angled his wand so as to flood the bottom of the pool with as much light as possible. Wonderment graced his expression, followed by more confusion. He lifted his head, scanning the vicinity again, searching for any sign of the person who had brought the Sword.

Severus renewed his concealment charms.

Evidently convinced that he was alone, the boy returned his attention to the object. " _Accio_ Sword," he murmured, and Severus indulged in another eye roll.

 _It is not that simple, you unimaginative dunderhead,_ he thought irritably.

"Help."

The word was spoken too softly to be any real plea for assistance—the boy was probably just talking to himself—but Severus froze anyway. He relaxed again when he reminded himself that he was as good as invisible; that much had been proven by the lack of hexes in his direction.

He raised an eyebrow when Potter rose and took up Severus's own habit of pacing, obviously thinking hard. He quickly moulded his countenance into a scowl, despite there being nobody to see it, feeling strangely uncomfortable with the thought that he and Potter shared any common ground besides a connection through Lily.

The boy let out a long sigh when he came to a halt, his smoky breath dispersing rapidly upon the frozen air. He was seemingly displeased with the conclusion at which he had arrived, although most people probably would be. Having less than zero desire to see the brat in his underwear, Severus looked away as Potter began to shed his many layers of clothing.

" _Diffindo._ "

Severus heard the thick ice crack, a bullet-like noise that seemed to resonate through the tranquility of the forest. Though the boy's apprehension was palpable, he was clearly not a Gryffindor for nothing, as the next sound that reached Severus's ears was that of someone jumping into the icy water.

He looked back at the lake. Potter's face was twisted in agony as the cold seeped through his body. He kept his head above water for several long seconds, and Severus almost thought that Potter had changed his mind; but then the boy sucked in a final desperate breath and submerged himself completely.

The water splashed about as Potter grappled around for the Sword at the bottom. Severus again refortified his magical camouflage when he noticed a new figure rapidly approaching, faintly illuminated by the light still coming from Potter's wand, which lay by the boy's clothes at the side of the pool.

When it got closer, the figure was revealed to be Ronald Weasley, who looked equal parts disbelieving and horrified as he peered down into the turbulent water. Horror then overtook disbelief as the _Lumos_ from Potter's wand began to dim. At this indication of Potter's looming mortality, Weasley jumped into the lake himself, with no hesitation.

There was a brief moment during which Severus was concerned that he would have to rescue both of the brats, but this notion was thankfully quashed when Weasley clambered back up onto the bank, pulling Potter with him. Severus had to suppress a snort when Weasley deposited the _saviour_ of the wizarding world face-down in the snow.

The would-be seventh years lay there choking, retching, soaking, and shivering, with ice crystals forming in their wet hair. Weasley was the first to his feet, the Sword of Gryffindor held in one hand and a locket on a broken chain dangling from the other.

"Are—you— _mental?"_

If they had the sense to warm themselves as soon as possible, they would be fine.

Severus turned and Apparated silently back to Hogwarts, satisfied with the knowledge that he would not be resuscitating anybody that evening, be it through magical or manual means.


	9. Confrontations

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter; I really enjoyed writing it. Please review!

 **Warnings:** Swearing

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. There is a line in this—"Has it ever crossed your brilliant mind that perhaps I don't want to do this anymore?"—that was in the films, and I used it here because I remember it breaking my heart. Sadly, I do not recall which movie it comes from. Nevertheless, I don't own it either. (I don't think it was in the books, although I apologize if I'm incorrect about that. If I am, let's pretend that it wasn't, just for continuity's sake.)

 **Confrontations**

The start of the new term seemed to creep up on Severus, who felt nothing but dread in regards to the day. If he could have, he would have put the school's resumption on indefinite hold—or rather, until he was no longer Headmaster. But now students swarmed the castle again, their spirits slightly lifted after the time spent with their families. Even in this tension-fraught era, they had apparently found a way to enjoy the holidays, or at least draw comfort from the fact that they were still alive to see another Christmas.

If only Severus were so content. His only solace—which, in all honesty, actually left a very marginal dent in his stress levels—was knowing that Potter had finally obtained the Sword of Gryffindor. Dumbledore had been thrilled with the success of the mission. Severus, too, had initially been pleased to cross another nearly-impossible task from his list, but the feeling had soon been replaced by one of extensive burn-out.

It seemed that the events of the past months had caught up to him: After delivering the Sword to Potter, Severus had spent an inordinate amount of time in bed and lacking the self-discipline to get out of bed, which was quite unlike him. Unfortunately, the admittedly much-needed sleep did nothing to soothe his raw emotions.

He felt like crap.

* * *

While the first day of the winter term passed uneventfully, day number two saw the Headmaster back to examining classrooms. The activity was as heinous as ever, especially since he had decided to get the most difficult professors to deal with out of the way immediately; in theory, a good idea, but it seemed more strenuous than it was worth after interacting with Sybill and Minerva consecutively. As he took a breather before launching into the next examination, the final on his agenda for the time being, he promised himself that he would recuperate by not doing any more staff checks for a week.

The Charms lesson was already underway when he arrived. It was a class of Gryffindor and Slytherin fourth-years. They were learning the Summoning Charm, pointing their wands at the glass inkpots that lined the opposite wall and saying, " _Accio_ " over and over again. Severus silently questioned the wisdom of using such a fragile item for first-time attempts. He didn't recall learning the spell that way.

With no preamble, he made his way over to a shadowy corner at the front of the room, where he stood with his arms crossed, looking like a vindictive bat just waiting for a reason to swoop in and claw someone to shreds. Despite the fact that he did no more than dispassionately observe the proceedings, his presence was pernicious; the number of inkpots that plummeted to the floor and shattered with a loud _crack_ increased dramatically the longer he lurked. He stayed until Filius issued a dismissal, and the little rug-rats shuffled out to go eat lunch.

"Severus," the Charms professor called stonily, stopping the Headmaster as he made for the door.

The aforementioned wizard turned with a raised eyebrow. "What is it, Filius? I have better things to do than listen to you whine about how I run this place," he drawled. The only reason why Filius or Minerva typically initiated contact with him was to give him an earful, as if they could shame him into being a less despicable Headmaster. Of course, with the Dark Lord pulling the strings, their quest would always be futile. They didn't seem to realize that.

"I do not intend to 'whine about how you run this place,'" Filius said, indignant, apparently ruffled by Severus's phrasing, "although I certainly have words for you about that as well. No," he continued when he was on the receiving end of an impatient glare, "I would like to inquire about one of my young charges: Luna Lovegood."

Severus felt his stomach clench. He had brought up the matter of Lovegood's abduction with Dumbledore, but the portrait had agreed that there was nothing he could do without jeopardizing his position. While he suspected that the girl was either in Azkaban or at Malfoy Manor, he could truthfully say that he was not certain of her location. However, ultimately, he would rather not have this conversation—confrontation—at all.

"If Miss Lovegood is unwell, then you had best pester Madam Pomfrey," said Severus, feigning ignorance. He paused before adding, "How you can tell when something is amiss with her, given that she is such an anomaly in the first place, I cannot even begin guess." Another pause, slightly longer this time and accompanied by a sneer. "On the other hand, I suppose that is the definition of Ravenclaw House: A congregation of the slightly-mad whose existence in polite society is disgraceful."

Severus had hoped that the other man would be offended, abandoning the issue of Luna Lovegood in favour of defending his House, but the Head of Ravenclaw refused to be sidetracked by the vituperation.

"She did not return after the break." Filius spoke slowly and deliberately, as though explaining a rather simple concept to an incredibly dimwitted child. Severus had noticed that the teachers often adopted this particular pattern of speech when they were frustrated or angry with him and trying to maintain a cool front. "I thought that perhaps you might know something about it, _Headmaster."_

The bite with which the usually-jovial man managed to infuse the title made Severus think darkly, _Don't worry, I will see that Minerva is Headmistress come September if it is the last thing I do._

"Be careful about what you insinuate," he warned with a simmering intensity.

Filius retorted, "You told her to watch her back. Seeing as the incident occurred in the Great Hall, I am sure that Miss Lovegood's Housemates can attest to that, if you have forgotten."

 _Damn._ In truth, Severus actually had forgotten. Between dealing with manipulative, dead wizards, trying to keep casualties among the student body to a minimum, and risking his own life at Death Eater meetings, those few words to the odd, faerie-like girl had slipped his mind.

"I have not touched a hair on your precious Ravenclaw's head."

"Even if you yourself did not partake in the event of Miss Lovegood's disappearance, you tracked all the students over the Christmas holidays, so you surely have some useful information." There was a dangerous spark in the small wizard's eyes. He was no less protective of his ravens than Minerva was of her lions; no matter that Severus towered above him, he wanted answers and was not afraid to push for them. It probably helped that he was a dueling champion.

Severus stormed up to the desk, banging his hands against the surface and leaning forward to within spitting distance of the other professor. "Remember your place," he growled. "I am in charge here, and you have no right to question me." He whirled around again and began to make his way out of the classroom, stopping by the door to say, somewhat cryptically, "Dead captives have no worth."

* * *

"Your employees are incorrigibly stubborn, Albus," Severus said querulously. "They will not let go of things that would be in their best interest to forget. They try my patience."

"I daresay that everybody tries your patience, my boy." Dumbledore seemed highly amused, that stupid twinkle as bright as ever, which only infuriated Severus more.

He decided not to justify the comment with a response. "Filius is convinced that I am involved in Lovegood's disappearance. I wouldn't be surprised if he even thinks I orchestrated it."

"And what did you tell him?" Dumbledore asked, peering at Severus over his half-moon spectacles.

"I told him that dead captives have no worth," Severus said. "Let him interpret that as he will. If he has any sense, he will be able to link the kidnapping with Xenophilius's rabble-rousing _Quibbler_ articles, and realize that Miss Lovegood is being held ransom. Alive," he added, though he thought that it was perhaps a dangerous assumption to make. He would not be surprised if the Dark Lord decided to killed the girl and then led her father to believe that she was fine, just for sport.

Dumbledore made a sound of acknowledgement before changing the subject abruptly: "Have you given thought to how you will pass to Harry the crucial information that we discussed?"

"No." He sent his predecessor a very nasty glower, not appreciating the new focus of discussion. "I have been a touch preoccupied with all the other things that you have tasked me with."

"It was only a question."

Severus's mood finally got the better of him. _"Damn_ you and your machinations, Dumbledore!" he raged. "You ask too much, you overestimate people; you blindly put your faith in the abilities of those who do not deserve it, and you are seemingly apathetic as to the toll that your weighty expectations take on the individual. Potter, myself… If you want something important done, you should do it yourself.

"You concoct these grand plans and ask others to see them through- no, you _command_ others to see them through, refusal not being an option. Tell me, how is that behaviour much different from the Dark Lord's? In fact, at this point, I would _prefer_ to answer to the Dark Lord than answer to you, because at least he is alive, however unfortunate that fact may be; you, on the other hand, are _dead,_ and yet still I must be subjected to your constant nagging and the schemes whose intent you refuse to detail!

"Has it ever crossed your brilliant mind that perhaps I don't want to do this anymore?"

The majority of the portraits had been roused from their slumber—or the pretense of slumber—by Severus's virulent outburst. While his diatribes were practically routine, it was less common for them to be directed at the well-respected former Headmaster, and so they were regarding him with wide eyes.

Contrarily, the object of Severus's ire was as unflappable as always, not displaying any signs of the anger that others might have reacted with. "I'm sorry you feel that way, my boy," came his underwhelming response.

"Save it," Severus snarled. So often he found that venting did not alleviate his temper, and this was one of those cases.

Instead of remaining in the office to be reprimanded or pitied or both, Severus withdrew, ignoring the mournful expression that adorned Dumbledore's face. He went back to his private quarters with the intention of shooting curses at the furniture, or drowning his frustrations in Firewhisky, or doing whatever else it took for the resentful, caged-animal feeling to diminish.


	10. Accusations

**Author's note:** Many thanks to those who have followed and favourited! I get ridiculously excited to know that people are reading what I write.

A shorter chapter today, but I feel like it says what I wanted it to say. Please review!

 **Warnings:** None

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **Accusations**

Severus took a furtive glance around the room. Half the teachers looked incensed, and the other half looked like they wanted to fall asleep, though they did not dare. Severus himself was inclined to side with the latter division. It was a month into the winter term, and staff meetings were as tedious as ever. He was very much looking forward to the end of this one.

"If that is all-"

"Wait." Amycus spoke up on both his own and his sister's behalf. "We have a complaint."

Severus turned to raise a questioning eyebrow at the shorter wizard, although what he really wanted to do—an impulse that he immediately disregarded—was to bang his head against the wall.

"Some kids have disappeared," the male Carrow said. "Ones who were supposed to show up for detention, and ones who were supposed to be in detention overnight."

"Can't find 'em anywhere," Alecto added.

Wryly, Severus thought, _I'm afraid that I cannot help you if you are so stupid as to be outwitted by children._

"We thought these muggle-loving plebeians might know something about it." The witch made a vague gesture towards the other professors. "All the missing students are _half-bloods."_

Severus paid no attention to the expression on Alecto's face when she said "half-bloods:" as though she were speaking about the Black Death. Between Slytherin House and the Dark Lord's inner circle, he had long ago acclimated to the disdain of blood purists. Even now, despite his indisputable usefulness as a Potions Master and a spy, some of the Death Eaters would never let him forget that he was the only half-blood among them. Not that he tried to advertise his supposedly-lesser blood status.

Minerva was the first to react, pressing her lips together as she gave an affronted sniff, reminding Severus of Phineas Nigellus. "That is an unfounded accusation," the Transfiguration professor said primly. "One should know that it is unwise to give voice to every inane thought that crosses one's mind."

While anybody with a scintilla of morality disliked the Carrows, the amount of animosity between Alecto and Minerva was truly astronomical. This fact had become evident the very first day of the school year, after the Welcoming Feast, with a dispute that had just barely avoided culminating in wands being drawn.

"I will look into the situation," Severus interjected coolly, choosing to ignore the elder witch. "Now, if nobody else-"

"We also want something done about Neville Longbottom," Alecto demanded, cutting through his second attempt at dismissal. She then began to recount the Gryffindor's sins, a long list with items similar enough to each other that they could have been amalgamated into just two or three points, if the Death Eater were more concise or eloquent. She finally summarized with, "He's a terror."

More fodder for the bad feelings between the Deputy and the head lioness, the latter of whom made an odd, strangled noise upon the end of the former's monologue. Severus suspected that it was a sound of repressed outrage.

He gave a curt nod. "Fine," he said, "I will deal with Mister Longbottom as well. _And now,_ "—his tone left no room for further interruption—"I believe that this meeting is over."

* * *

The sound of a quill scratching away filled the office, distinctive, spiky black script forming a brief message on a small square of parchment:

 _"Mr. Longbottom,_

 _Report to my office at seven postmeridian. The temporary password will be_ herbaria.

 _Signed,_

 _Severus Snape_

 _Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry"_

Severus tapped the note with his wand, drying the ink instantly, before sending it off to be delivered via house-elf.

The self-proclaimed Dumbledore's Army had become more aggressive since school had resumed. Along with the standard graffiti, parchments bearing insulting speculations about Severus's and the Carrows' parentages, and Severus's personal hygienic practices, had been appearing, typically pinned to classroom doors. Severus guessed that they were also the ones who were smuggling out half-blooded students.

Fortunately enough for Longbottom and Co., the only offence of which Alecto and Amycus were definitely aware was being disrespectful and defiant in Muggle Studies and Dark Arts classes, and Severus was not about to share his theories. If the twins were intelligent, they might have pieced together who exactly was behind Dumbledore's Army—Severus thought that the three who had tried to steal the Sword of Gryffindor a few months back was a rather strong hint; however, intelligent they were not, and Severus didn't feel bad about contributing to the twins' aneurysms by continuing to withhold his suspicions.

"Mister Longbottom is certainly turning out to be quite the rebel," the portrait of Dumbledore observed from behind him. Dumbledore had earlier been privy to yet another of Severus's rants, this one on the depravity of the Carrow twins.

Severus turned around, rolling his eyes at the merriment in the old Headmaster's voice, a custom he had begun long before Dumbledore's death. He looked fated to continue that one indefinitely. "Indeed," he drawled sarcastically. "Now if only political activism weren't such a self-sacrificing endeavour at the moment."

* * *

He changed the password at exactly five minutes to seven, and Longbottom entered right on time. Given that this student had broken the record for Most Cauldrons Melted during Severus's time as Potions professor and was often late for detentions, he had expected tardiness from the boy. The punctuality was a pleasant surprise.

"I got your note, Professor."

"Obviously."

Although Longbottom was looking worse for the wear, like someone had used him as a punching bag, he met Severus's gaze evenly. And, to his credit, he looked unfazed by the Headmaster's sneering reply. "What do you want?" he asked.

"'What do you want, _sir,'_ " Severus corrected, before sweeping on without waiting for a response: "Today I received a list of your crimes, and I assure you that they are plentiful. What do you have to say for your misbehaviours?"

Longbottom glanced around at the portraits lining the walls, his eyes lingering on Dumbledore's, but they had all returned to their favourite pastime of pretending to be asleep. "Seeing as I haven't done anything wrong," he said slowly, "I don't have anything to say. _Sir."_

Severus raised an eyebrow and leaned forward intently, arms propped up on the desk, fingers interlaced. "I could enumerate your transgressions," he said at an equally slow pace, "however, I do not believe we have enough time for that."

Only mutinous silence came from the child in front of him, who had crossed his arms and was now staring at the floor. Severus let the silence continue for a while before saying, "A piece of advice: When heading an illegal student organization, evading discovery should be your first priority."

That caught the boy's attention. Longbottom's head snapped up, and he looked at Severus with a deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face. "You- you have no proof, you can't… say that… it's… totally unfounded!" he sputtered, unknowingly echoing his Head of House's words from earlier.

"Your bumbling denial is proof enough," Severus said smugly, while thinking that accusations were rampant today. "Five-hundred points from Gryffindor."

The Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and, especially, Gryffindor hourglasses were already well into the negative numbers, so taking away more points was silly, but he did it anyway to make clear his intent.

Longbottom's mouth opened. No words came out.

"Trying to catch flies?" Severus mocked. Then he held out a slip excusing the student for not adhering to the post-dinner curfew. "Get out of my sight, and don't let me catch you vandalizing the walls again."

For a moment, Longbottom was frozen to the chair—Severus could practically see the gears grinding in the Gryffindor's head, wondering when he had given himself away—but then he took the parchment, stood, and, with a final, defiant glare, started to leave the office. He was at the top of the stairs when Severus called for him to pause.

"Oh, and Mister Longbottom"—Severus waited for the young man to look at him again—"it would be in your best interest to tell no one of what occurred here this evening."

The Headmaster waved the door shut, not missing Longbottom's confused expression as he did so. Seeing as the worst thing to happen had been a mass deduction of points, Longbottom was understandably confused—but that was precisely the reason for Severus's words; provided his instructions were followed, he was hoping for the Carrows to catch wind of the boy's reluctance to speak, and for them to assume that Severus had doled out some truly awful punishment.

Promise to deal with Longbottom fulfilled, Severus's next job was a pile of administrative work. Before he began, he changed the password back to "Lily."


	11. Dumbledore's Army

**Author's note:** Sorry for the delay again. I'm working on a short story, which usually takes up more of my writing time than I intend. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

Guest: Thank you! I imagine that he does just go through a lot of temporary passwords. It gives some extra security, and it makes his desired password less risky. And it isn't obvious since I never addressed the issue directly, but Lily is his second permanent password, since he changed it after Neville and Ginny tried to steal the Sword. His first password, before he started using temporary ones, was probably something less conspicuous. I do have a rough sketch of an epilogue! I love writing this, so I imagine that I will do some one-shots in the same style, highlighting important events from the previous books. I certainly have enough ideas for that. I would have loved to do the full seven years if I'd known it would be such a fun project, but at this point it seems a bit odd to go back and do 1-6 after doing 7?

Thomasahagney: Thank you! I certainly have no plans to abandon this story.

 **Warnings:** Implied torture

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **Dumbledore's Army**

The Longbottom boy, for whatever reason, followed Severus's strange, quasi-threat, parting instructions without a fuss; rumours were quick to spread through the castle, students speculating about what had really happened to "poor Nev"—Longbottom had apparently gone from being an awkward wallflower to being a much-loved member of the student body—in the Headmaster's office. The consensus was that it had been something ghastly, no doubt, because he wouldn't speak of it. Thankfully, the Carows seemed to reach the same conclusion, for Severus had not been accosted by angry twins demanding the harsh chastisement of a particular Gryffindor. This was good for all involved.

A few days following his conference with the seventh-year, Severus was in his usual place, hidden away in his office, when Dumbledore piped up. The chosen topic was seemingly random—who knew how the man got from Thought A to Thought B—and the old codger sounded annoyingly chipper. "You know," he began with faux casualty, which in itself made Severus suspicious, "you should get your portrait commissioned soon."

Severus immediately stopped what he was doing, but he didn't look up or turn around. "Oh?" he said in acknowledgement, raising an eyebrow, even though Dumbledore couldn't see it.

"All of the Hogwarts Headmasters get their portrait hung up here after they die." Given that it was the portrait of a former Headmaster who was speaking, this statement sounded especially ridiculous. And yet, he spoke as though he were revealing the answer to some great mystery. His apparent sincerity—which Severus would have said was just a tool for manipulation—earned some giggles from the other portraits, on whom the irony was not lost.

The current Headmaster cut in acerbically: "Yes, alas, I am forced to tolerate you even after I have murdered you."

"It was a favour, not murder," Dumbledore corrected, ignoring the implied insult, "but that is beside the point. You see, in current times, it is best not to put things off for too long. You really should get your portrait commissioned soon."

There was a beat of silence, during which Severus pinched the bridge of his nose with two long, slender fingers. He could feel a migraine coming on.

"Albus," he said sternly, "no lucid person would want a portrait of me in the office—or anywhere—and no lucid person would go to the effort of animating said portrait. It is more likely that they would use it to start a bonfire; so, no. I will not be having my portrait commissioned, not now and not in the future. Do you honesty think that my legacy as a Death Eater is something to be preserved? What other suggestions are rattling around in that acrylic skull of yours? Should I get a frame engraved with the words, 'Most Corrupt Headmaster,' or perhaps a plaque that could be hung below it? No, I am quite content to not leave a reminder of that."

"You are too hard on yourself, my boy."

Now Severus looked back, pinning his former mentor with a glare. That statement was too foolish to warrant a response, he decided as he returned to the letter he had been scanning, an angry message from a parent who had the nerve to give him a talking-to. The silver lining was that at least it wasn't a Howler.

"I imagine that I will be out most of the night," he announced, less concerned with letting Dumbledore know of his evening plans and more concerned with changing the subject, although he knew that he was not off the hook. "The Carrows told me to uncover the reason for students disappearing from overnight detention. They did not say it so explicitly, but their intention was clear enough. It seems they are too pathetic to do it themselves."

"I wish you the best of luck."

 _Hmph._ That did not deserve a verbal reply either.

* * *

Severus had been lurking in the drafty dungeon corridor for half the night now, Silenced and Disillusioned—they were staples in his spying toolbox—and so far, the most interesting thing to happen was one of the ghosts taking a shortcut through the walls. That had been an hour ago, and he was feeling terribly bored from being confined to the area. He had always enjoyed wandering the castle after curfew and catching wayward students out of bed—and taking points and, if the children got mouthy, assigning detentions—but he detested watch-and-wait tasks; he could never let his awareness dull, even when nothing of interest was going on—"constant vigilance," as the late Alastor Moody always preached—in which case he was highly attuned to a lot of nothing.

It was around three in the morning when Severus's efforts were finally rewarded with the sound of socked feet pattering on the stone floor, accompanied by hushed voices. He carefully crept forward in order to hear them better. They were arguing:

"…self into a martyr."

"That's not my goal. I just want to do this."

"You shouldn't have volunteered. Nobody would blame you if we turned back."

"We can't turn back, we're Gryffindors!" The footsteps had ceased, the destination apparently forgotten in favour of finishing the debate—or perhaps it was just that the first speaker was not allowing the second to proceed.

"Yes, and you were in big trouble with Snape just a few days ago."

"Snape can go to hell."

"I just don't want you to end up in St. Mungos because we were caught and you took the fall for both of us—no, you would, I know it—and they decided to hang you from the ceiling and _Crucio_ you until you lost your mind." There was a pause. Then, in an apologetic rush, "Oh Merlin, I'm so sorry, Neville, I didn't think before I said that."

"It's okay."

"Honestly, I wasn't trying to-"

"Ginny, seriously, it's fine. But stop worrying, okay? This won't take us very long. There's only one student down there tonight, and we've done this several times, so it's not like we're doing this totally off the cuff or something." Another pause. "Besides, we have to do this _because_ I was in trouble with Snape a few days ago. It'll show them that they can't scare us into line that easily."

The Weasley girl let out a frustrated huff, but she gave in, if the lack of further argument was any indication. The footsteps resumed. Severus felt a slight rush of air as they passed him by; although they, too, were Disillusioned, that did not exempt them from leaving aural cues. They did not seem to have discovered the many benefits of Silencing spells, the dunderheads. Severus had figured that one out right off the bat.

He followed the students down the hallway, to the door of the classroom-turned-torture room.

 _"Alohomora."_ The lock clicked open.

Severus shook his head at the meagre defences. He would certainly not trust the Carrows with protecting anything of consequence if that was how simply one could break in. On the other hand, the Philospher's Stone had been guarded by an elaborate obstacle course—designed by some of the most capable witches and wizards of their specialties, no less—and somehow three eleven-year-olds had gotten through it. At the time, he had written it off as a fluke, but the Trio had gone on to have a similar track record of success against the odds. He could only hope that they would pull off another nearly-impossible feat this year.

"Okay," Longbottom said quietly, "you know the drill. You have your coin, right?"

"Of course," Ginny replied with a smile in her voice. "I wouldn't be a member of Dumbledore's Army without it. Good luck."

"Thanks."

The door opened and Longbottom, presumably, went inside. He neglected to shut the door after entering, but that was probably intentional since Weasley didn't move to close it either. Not having to fumble with a doorknob would facilitate a quicker escape.

Severus moved closer, listening intently for the action within. He heard very faint whimpering and the clinking of metal chains. While the latter sound wouldn't have been too problematic under normal circumstances, in this delicate situation, it might as well have been a thunderclap; even the Carrows, dumb as they were, would recognize the noise as the giveaway that it was, should they be in the vicinity.

"Who's there?"

 _Speak of the devil,_ Severus thought, cursing under his breath. Making a split-second decision, he strode forward, canceling his charms and revealing himself. He could feel Weasley practically vibrating with panic, her fears of discovery suddenly much closer to fruition.

"Amycus," Severus said in greeting.

"Headmaster!" The male Carrow looked surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"I am patrolling the halls," Severus replied coolly, speaking slightly slower than usual, in attempt to buy Longbottom and Weasley more time, "although I do not believe that it is your right to question where I go in my own school."

Amycus shrugged. "Just asking," he said, utterly unrepentant.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "You did want me to investigate the issue of disappearing students, did you not?"

"Oh, yes," the shorter wizard answered, nodding eagerly. "So what've you found?"

"I have been out all night and there has been minimal disturbance." Behind him, there was an infinitesimal rustling, like someone was cautiously putting one foot in front of the other. Amycus didn't appear to notice.

"Minimal?"

"Discounting appearances by Filch's cat, who can make quite the ruckus if it wishes."

Unfortunately, the lock clicking again could not be chalked up to the caretaker's furry companion, unless Mrs. Norris had suddenly grown opposable thumbs.

"There's someone there!" Amycus exclaimed, drawing his wand and rushing forward.

Severus bit back the urge to retort, _Obviously._ "Check the room," he ordered instead. "Whoever it is may be inside."

Amycus hastily proceeded to do so, which Severus found rather amusing. The Death Eater did not seem to realize that since the door hadn't actually opened, nobody had gone inside; nor did he seem to realize that the likelihood of somebody who was there already locking themselves in was practically nonexistent.

Severus hung about in the doorway, scowling ferociously, but otherwise doing nothing. The sound of three people running down the corridor reached his ears, dissipating as they put more distance between themselves and the danger.

Meanwhile, an incredibly distressed Amycus was circling the old classroom and poking at things with his wand, as though expecting to suddenly find something he'd missed before, or feel something that couldn't be seen by the naked eye. "It's empty!" He screeched. "Empty! Even that second-year that we locked in earlier today is gone!"

"Seeing as we just heard them, the miscreants cannot be too far away—especially as the dungeons are a vast labyrinth that is easy to get lost in if one does not know what one is doing," Severus said, much more calmly than his Deputy. "We will search for them. You go down that way." He pointed in the opposite direction of where the students had escaped.

Once his view of the Carrow twin had been swallowed by the gloom, Severus turned and walked away, feeling both relieved and exasperated.

 _Merlin, help me,_ he thought. _The antics with which I must contend._


	12. Threats

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

4LJ: Thank you very much!

Guest: Thanks! I like those suggestions. I confess that I was playing around earlier today, and the result was two Snape POV chapters from Philosopher's Stone. I think that the characters have made the decision about the prequel for me, haha. For the epilogue, I agree. What I have in mind right now is that he will see Voldemort's defeat and get forgiveness from Lily and finally find some peace. Thanks again!

 **Warnings:** Swearing

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **Threats**

In mid-March, a hellish few weeks after he had clandestinely assisted "Dumbledore's Army," Severus returned from another meeting with the Dark Lord. Despite downing a headache potion before apparating back to Hogwarts—he had had the foresight to bring a variety of potions with him, nestled carefully in the deep inner pockets of his robes—it felt like a woodpecker was trying to drill a hole through the centre of his skull. The Dark Lord had not been gentle with his mental probing, not that he ever was. Severus supposed that it could have been worse; at least the meeting had been semi-private, with only the Carrows and himself in attendance.

The twins had complained about the other teachers, Severus's performance as Headmaster, and a long list of students—Neville Longbottom, of course, had made the top of that list, with Ginerva Weasley, Seamus Finnigan, Michael Corner, and Anthony Goldstein, among others, following. When it came to the issue of the missing students, the majority of the blame fell to the Carrows, whom the Dark Lord said should have been keeping a closer eye on suspicious activity. "The mundane responsibilities are yours," had been the Dark Lord's words. Severus had never been more grateful for the heaps of administrative work—which, under the Dark Lord's regime, included issuing threats and delving into some of the most gruesome and inhumane facets of the Dark Arts—as it gave him valid excuse for being holed up in his office ninety percent of the time.

Now, back in said office at almost midnight, Severus was reporting to his second master—or his first, if one were to discount the Dark Lord, seeing as he had defected to the Order of the Phoenix.

"The Carrows are most upset by the disobedient students, Longbottom in particular, but little retribution came to me; the Dark Lord is satisfied with what he sees in my memories. Overall, it went fine." His tone was curt, and he was clearly in a foul mood.

"But something troubles you."

"Yes, how perceptive," he sneered and began pacing. "The Dark Lord is currently obsessed with an extremely powerful artifact with mythical origins, whose whereabouts-"

"The Elder Wand."

He paused, both at the interruption and at the accurate guess. "Indeed. He believes that possessing it will allow him to beat Potter in a duel, that this wand will make him invincible. He will not have a repeat of what happened in the graveyard." There was another pause before he accused, "You suspected that this would happen. Do you know where the Elder Wand is?"

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "Yes," he conceded, "but I don't think I will tell you."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Dumbledore!" Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, getting ready to start on another one of his tirades, for which he was now infamous amongst the portraits.

The old Headmaster cut him off again: "Have you been asked to subdue Mister Longbottom?"

Severus wanted to hex off the goddamn knowing twinkle that graced the bloody painting's eyes. "Yes," he said, scowling. "I have written many letters this year to unrestful parents, threatening the welfare of their children if they do not quietly accept the Dark Lord's power; in this case, I am to do the reverse. I will be calling Longbottom to my office again to warn him that if the rabble-rousing does not cease immediately, his grandmother will find herself at risk."

"I actually rather pity whichever low-level Auror you send after Augusta Longbottom," Dumbledore chuckled.

"She is a force to be reckoned with," Severus agreed drily. Then he took a deep breath. "There is one more thing: The Dark Lord wishes for me to master unassisted flight."

Dumbledore went silent at this news; even he had not been anticipating it.

"It is a very tricky combination of Dark Magic, charms, and partial transfiguration," Severus continued. "He gave me the instructions—after twenty minutes of bragging about how he devised the procedure, of course. He is actually quite intelligent, despite being a _fucking_ lunatic."

"Language, Severus."

He ignored the chiding. "You had better hope that I do not plunge to my death attempting this. After all," he added, shooting Dumbledore a withering look, "then who would you have to do your dirty work? Your precious Golden Boy would never find out that he must die."

"I think it is time to let go of that issue."

"And _I_ think that I am rather good at holding grudges."

Dumbledore sighed in a long-suffering way. "Take a headache potion and go to bed, Severus."

* * *

Six hours of sleep and a cocktail of potions later, Severus's humour was much improved—although that did not necessarily change what he said to others, merely the amount of profanity that he used to say it.

Severus was going over a list of the students' Easter holiday plans. As he had with the Christmas holidays, he would be assigning minor Death Eaters to track the children over the break. He could not, unfortunately, simply assign the same people to the same families, as quite a few of those Death Eaters were now dead. Death Eaters were, in fact, the most disposable component of the Death Eater organization.

"I received an owl from the Weasleys," Severus commented, as he came to _"Weasley, Ginerva"_ on his list. "Their youngest will not be finishing her sixth year. I suppose that Molly and Arthur thought it better to inform me now than to have their daughter abducted and tortured for not boarding the train again. They also mentioned that Ronald is still deathly ill with spattergroit." He scratched out both of the children's names.

"Ah yes," said Dumbledore, and Severus could hear the grin in his voice. "Spattergroit is a very nasty affliction."

Severus snorted. "The Burrow has been under Ministry surveillance for months. How the family has pulled off this deceit for so long is a mystery."

"You are going to allow Miss Weasley to withdraw from Hogwarts, aren't you, Severus?"

"Do not worry, Albus," the Headmaster responded coolly. "Because the letter came directly to me, I see no reason to inform the Dark Lord or the Carrows, and I myself am hardly interested in persecuting the family."

Severus was curious to see what would happen with Dumbledore's Army. Between the threat to Longbottom and the loss of two-thirds of the group's leaders—Miss Weasley and Miss Lovegood—it was likely that the group would disband.

"Good. They deserve a bit of a break."

"Hmph."

* * *

"What did you want this time?"

Longbottom looked even worse than he had the last time he'd been up to the Headmaster's office, and Severus's eyes zeroed in on particularly nasty slash, which spanned the entire left side of the boy's jaw. He knew where the Gryffindor had acquired that injury, because Alecto had described the incident in great detail. Apparently he had asked the Muggle Studies professor how much muggle blood she and her brother had, the self-preservationless moron.

"Watch how you address me, boy," Severus snapped.

"Sorry, sir," Longbottom replied, not sounding sorry in the slightest, although that was to be expected.

An idea suddenly entered Severus's head, and he reached for his wand. Longbottom reflexively reached for his own, too, but Severus pointed the slightly-crooked stick at the office door, casting a non-verbal Silencing Spell.

"What was that? Sir," Longbottom added belatedly, looking nervous, and unwilling to relinquish the death grip he had on his wand.

"I see that nearly seven years of magical education has not been wasted on you," Severus drawled sarcastically. "That, Mister Longbottom, was a Silencing Spell. They are rather useful when one does not wish to be overheard."

The boy's eyes widened, and he gasped. In typical Gryffindor fashion, his thoughts and emotions were displayed loud and clear across his face: the realization that Dumbledore's Army could use S _ilencio_ to help conceal their undercover operations, and the irritation that they had not thought to do so in the beginning.

"Problem, Longbottom?"

"I- uh, no, no, not- no."

"How very eloquent." Taking advantage of the perfect segue, Severus said, "You may not have a problem, but I do. You are becoming far too obstreperous in your"—he paused for effect—" _extra-curricular activities."_

"Fine, then." Longbottom scowled and raised his chin defiantly. "Do whatever you want to me."

Severus's lip curled in response. "As much as I would delight in disemboweling you and decorating the Great Hall with your still-warm, blood-coated innards as a warning to those who may follow in your footsteps"—despite the atrocities he must have witnessed, Longbottom paled at this graphic description—"I am not suggesting that you will come to any harm."

 _Smarter than he looks,_ Severus thought when the young man narrowed his eyes, aware that there was a catch to the statement.

"No," he continued silkily, "I would be more concerned about the fate of your dear grandmother, should 'Dumbledore's Army' continue."

"You would go after Gran?" Longbottom repeated slowly.

 _I take it back. Not smarter than he looks._

"Are you deaf?" Severus sneered again. "I believe that I make myself crystal clear: If you have any care for the woman who raised you, then you will terminate your dissentious behaviour at once."

"I see…. May I go?"

Severus flicked the doors open with a wave of his hand. He sneered again.

"Do try not to make a return trip."

He waited for Longbottom to descend the stairs before putting up privacy wards.

"I think that went surprisingly well," the portrait of Dumbledore said, sounding too cheery for the occasion—or any occasion, in Severus's opinion.

He thought that he felt another migraine coming on. "I used to think Potter would be the death of me"—he pinched the bridge of his nose—"but now I think that it will be Longbottom."


	13. Flight

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter, despite its short length. I wanted to write something about Snape's attempts to fly, and there was nothing that seemed appropriate to pair it with. Please tell me if the ending seems contrived. I was going for calm-before-the-storm, as the next chapter will deal with the fallout of the Trio's escape from Malfoy Manor, but I don't know if it works; I've read it over too many times to tell.

Guest: Wow, thank you so much! I'm really happy to hear that I'm doing justice to the character. That is definitely something I aim for. And yes, a prequel will be happening! The only thing I'm not yet sure about is how far back I'll go, if I'll do anything from the Marauders era, or if I'll just start with Snape hearing the prophecy.

 **Warnings:** None

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **Flight**

It was almost a week before Severus actually attempted unassisted flight. He spent that almost-week poring over the parchments given to him by the Dark Lord, which explained the theory and how to do it. Though he would never admit it, the more he studied the text, the more nervous he became. It looked difficult, and to make things worse, magic tended to be harder in practice than on paper. A couple days in, images of plummeting to the ground and breaking every bone in his body—except his spine, for that would cause too quick and merciful a death—began weaving themselves into his dreams.

From this had come his secondary project: hunting for any safety spells that he might not already know. He had turned his personal library inside-out, even searching through Dark Arts books, although practitioners of the Dark Arts were not generally concerned with safety. Despite his efforts, he came up short. He had initially tried to reassure himself that the Dark Lord had done this and survived just fine—unfortunately—so the common safety spells would probably suffice; however, that had quickly given rise to the idea that the Dark Lord may have intentionally withheld some information regarding precautionary measures, or even worse, passed him faulty instructions.

Perhaps that was the most terrifying part of it all—the possibility that this was some elaborate trick of the Dark Lord's, that the Dark Lord was aware of Severus's treachery, and that this was the price Severus had to pay. The instructions made it very clear that one had to jump from a great height to get started, at least until the skill was ingrained. Most likely, this was simply due to the laws of physics: It would be much easier to take the inertia from the fall and repurpose it than to try and generate the momentum from scratch.

Still, Severus wouldn't be surprised if his master thought that it would be a lark to have him inadvertently kill himself. Why the Dark Lord might view this method as preferable to doing the deed very slowly, very publicly, and with his own two hands—or wand—Severus could not even begin to imagine, but everyone knew that there was a loose wire in the Dark Lord's circuit breaker. It was probably better for his own sanity if he didn't try to guess what went on in that reptilian head.

The one thing that worked out well for Severus was the timing. Most of the students had left for the Easter break that morning, so he could try this with a reduced risk of being seen. Certainly, the last thing he needed was for _"DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY SAW SNAPE TRYING TO KILL HIMSELF"_ to appear splashed over the entrance of the Great Hall. The irony was that he would never be able to live down such a proclamation, if he did, indeed, live.

Severus tucked into his pockets both the Dark Lord's parchments and parchments filled with his own scribbled notes. He debated bringing potions with him, but ultimately decided against it, thinking that the fall was guaranteed to kill him if his spell-work failed, and that the vials would just weigh him down.

"Albus."

The portrait blinked open its eyes, yawning and stretching its arms above its head, arching its back as it did so. Severus couldn't tell if the painting was acting or sincere this time.

"I am going to go pitch myself off of the Astronomy Tower," he announced wryly. "I will see you in purgatory."

He was out the door before Dumbledore had even opened his mouth.

* * *

Severus leaned over the parapet. The grounds below were hazy in the twilight. If he remembered correctly, the last time he had been up here was the night when he killed the former Headmaster.

The scene suddenly pushed its way into his mind's eye, the details somehow crisper than they had been when it was actually happening: The Dark Mark above the castle. A weakened Dumbledore surrounded by four Death Eaters and an extremely pale Draco Malfoy. His name on Dumbledore's lips, communicating much more than simply getting his attention, _begging_ him to play the part of the Dark Lord's most trusted follower, to spare him the humiliation of falling prey to Bellatrix. And then the green light hitting Dumbledore's chest, and that brief moment immediately after, when time seemed to stop, and all that Severus could think about was how he had just murdered his friend, and that was what truly made the curse unforgiveable-

He cleared his mind. He did not need to think about that right now. With the students away, there would be plenty of time to torture himself in the morning.

* * *

Severus wasn't sure exactly how many times he had climbed back up to the Tower and stepped off the edge again—he had started getting déjà vu around twenty-six and lost count after seventy. Finally, though, he was finding success. Not consistently, and he couldn't fly very far or for very long, but it was an improvement over falling and bouncing off of the cushioned, invisible barrier that he'd erected.

In any case, he didn't need to maintain the flight for very long to understand its appeal. Knowing that you were moving on your own accord, using your own power, even if it was only for a few seconds, provided a greater sense of accomplishment than flying on a broom did. And he had never cared much for broomsticks anyway; they felt uncomfortable and precarious, and some of the older ones were temperamental. He also tended to associate brooms with Qudiditch and Quidditch with the type of popular school-children who had made and continued to make his life miserable. No, flying unassisted was much more satisfactory, if also more tiring.

The sun was rising again when Severus returned to his office, completely drained, but closer to genuine contentment than he had been in quite a long time.


	14. Aftermath of a Skirmish

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

4LJ: I re-read that chapter of _Half-Blood Prince_ in order to write that part, and it just broke my heart to imagine it from Snape's perspective, even with Harry's POV painting the man in such a bad light. And have no fear, I will definitely be seeing this story through to the end!

 **Warnings:** Torture

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **Aftermath of a Skirmish**

Beyond the learning curve of actually getting started, Severus found himself making good progress with unassisted flight. He stayed up most of the night on both Saturday and Sunday; practice made perfect. Although he did not yet feel comfortable with removing the safety charms entirely, the number he chose to apply dropped from a handful to only two, as he was confident that he could at least slow a fall enough to avoid injury. He didn't feel guilty about the Dark Magic involved, either, as it technically was not hurting anybody else, and it did not comprise the majority of the mechanisms.

It was around three o'clock on Monday morning when Severus's Mark started to burn ferociously. If he hadn't been walking through the castle, coming back from the Astronomy Tower, and at risk of being heard, he would have sworn out loud. Given that he had met with the Dark Lord recently, this was most likely a group meeting, and the topic of discussion was probably Harry Potter. There was nothing besides Potter's death that the Dark Lord had strong enough feelings about to warrant such urgency—his new obsession with the Elder Wand didn't count, as it was essentially a subset of his quest to kill Potter.

Severus picked up his pace, ignoring his apprehension; if he actually paid attention to how he felt, he would end up a permanent resident in the hospital wing or at St. Mungo's, curled pathetically in a fetal position. He made a quick detour to his quarters—" _Accio_ Death Eater robes"—before hurrying out to the Apparation point and teleporting himself to Malfoy Manor. He silently swore again when he saw that he was one of the last arrivals, but, in a rare stroke of luck, his master's fury was currently preoccupied.

"These _fools"_ —the Dark Lord gestured carelessly in the direction of Bellatrix Lestrange and the Malfoys, his head turned in the opposite direction, as though their foolishness was projectile and might contaminate him if he so much as gave them a glance—"were bested by a _house-elf."_

A smattering of the Death Eaters chuckled. Severus just raised an eyebrow, apathetic mask fixed solidly in place.

"Yes, it would be rather amusing, if it had not _cost me Harry Potter."_

That made everybody freeze, and the tension in the room seemed to increase tenfold. Lucius, Narcissa, Draco, and Bellatrix all ducked their heads. Looking like they had been through hell and back, it didn't take a Legilimens to know that they had been punished most severely. Bellatrix, Severus noted with a twinge of surprise, seemed to be the worst off of the four.

The Dark Lord continued scathingly: "I was called away from some _crucial business,_ only to discovered that no less than _six_ captives had escaped, Apparated to who knows where, thanks to a creature that used to belong to the Malfoy family."

Severus made a mental note to see if he could find out who the other three captives had been. It was possible that one was the Lovegood girl.

"How could that've happened?" Goyle spoke up. "Aren't there anti-Apparation wards on this place?"

The inquiry was followed by a scream and a _thud_ as Goyle fell backwards in his chair, hit by a short—but evidently strong—bout of the Cruciatus Curse.

"They were bested by a house elf," the Dark Lord shouted. "Pay attention when I am speaking!"

"Yes, my Lord, I'm sorry, my Lord, forgive me," Goyle stuttered in response. Although he was apparently too dimwitted to know that house-elf magic worked differently from that of wizards', thus allowing them to bypass wards, the thuggish man knew when it was time to grovel.

The Dark Lord glared for a moment longer before refocusing on Severus. "Potter was travelling with both the Mudblood and the blood traitor. You said that the blood traitor was ill."

Severus met the Dark Lord's gaze evenly. In his periphery, he saw Bellatrix look slightly revived by her master's words, like she was hoping that the blame would now fall to somebody else.

"Yes, my Lord," the Headmaster replied, strengthening his Occlumency shields. "I was told that the brat was practically on his deathbed with spattergroit."

"Who did you send to watch the blood traitor's house over the Christmas break?"

"Everett Higgins, who reported nothing that contradicted my knowledge." He decided not to remind the Dark Lord that he had killed Higgins, along with several others, after a failed raid on a muggle village in late January.

Those red eyes narrowed, and Severus did not have to wait long for the mental attack. The Dark Lord viciously ripped through his mind, searching for the barest hint of a lie. Because he had been thorough, the other wizard found none; practically every scene was carefully edited, either removing traitorous behaviours such as answering to Dumbledore's portrait, or exaggerating the vehemence of meetings with students such as Longbottom. The only memories that Severus allowed the Dark Lord to see in full were those relating to his success with unassisted flight.

When the Dark Lord withdrew, Severus was left with yet another nasty headache. One would have thought he'd be used to those by now, he mused wearily as he dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands, which were hidden underneath the stone tabletop. The pain was worse than usual, partly due to the force of the invasion and partly due to the pre-existing exhaustion from flight practice. He reinforced his shields again to help block some of it out. The mental movement initially caused the agony to increase, before making it subside by a minuscule degree.

"Well"—the Dark Lord still looked a touch suspicious, but he seemed willing to believe Severus's innocence and loyalty—"now that the truth is out, it is only fitting that the blood traitors be properly punished. Who shall I send… Gibbon. Rowle." The two Death Eaters straightened attentively when they heard their names. "Go to that shack that the blood traitors call their home and dismember them. I am tired of that family sullying what it means to be a pure-blood."

Gibbon's and Rowle's responses were drowned out by Bellatrix practically throwing herself onto the table. "Let me go, too, my Lord," the fanatical witch pleaded loudly, "let me help punish the blood traitors."

The Dark Lord looked down his—nonexistent—nose at her. "I told you to summon me for 'nothing less than Potter,'" he hissed, "and you _lost him_ before I even arrived. That does not win you my favour."

Bellatrix pouted, the only member of the inner circle who would dare to protest so blatantly. "But my Lord, didn't I do a good job torturing the little Mudblood? She wasn't even fit to crawl by the time I was done with her!"

Through the throbbing in his head, this information took a moment to register. When it did, Severus dug his nails harder into his palms. Privately, he hoped that Granger made a swift recovery. Unfortunately for them, the rest of the Trio would last barely a day with her out of commission. Forget Dark wizards, Wonder Boy was likely to get mauled by a wild rabbit, and Weasley somehow surpassed even that low level of competence, a feat which Severus would have deemed impossible, had he not encountered it first-hand in Potions class.

"That does not change the fact that you, Bellatrix, pressed the Mark and let Potter escape. I am not going to entrust this task to you. Do not test my patience." Despite his words and Bellatrix's battered appearance, Severus knew the mere fact that the Dark Lord hadn't cursed the witch for speaking up, as he had Frederic Goyle, meant she was only in his bad books temporarily.

The meeting then turned to other matters, such as the state of things at the Ministry and plans to reach for followers outside of Britain. The subject of the Elder Wand was not broached, and Severus wondered if that was knowledge only he was privy to. It wouldn't surprise him. The Carrows had already been asked to leave by the time the Dark Lord had revealed his new obsession. Perhaps he had also told Bellatrix, before she failed him.

After a threat of "the next person to raise a false alarm for the capture of Harry Potter will die," the Death Eaters knelt again, one by one, at their master's feet, a final show of reverence before they returned home.

Severus also received a personalized dismissal: "Do something about Neville Longbotom."

"Yes, my Lord," he answered obediently, before rising and leaving the room.

It took three vials of headache-relief potion to alleviate the cranial pounding enough for him to Apparate without the fear of being splinched.

* * *

"Albus, they were caught. They were at Malfoy Manor."

The portrait's eyes widened, its attention immediately captured. Had he been real, Dumbledore probably would have blanched at this announcement.

Severus continued, "They escaped, but not before Granger was tortured by Bellatrix—quite thoroughly."

"Do you know how they got away?"

"A house-elf rescued them, apparently. The Dark Lord was incensed."

"I can only imagine."

"This also means he is aware that Ronald Weasley's malady was a ploy. He assigned two Death Eaters—Thorfinn Rowle and Atticus Gibbon—to, as he put it, 'dismember' the family." Severus began pacing. "I cannot think of an inconspicuous way to warn them."

To his dismay, Dumbledore made a sound of agreement. There was no twinkle in the old Headmaster's eye. "We will simply have to hope that with Miss Weasley's departure from Hogwarts, they have left the Burrow and gone into hiding. If a solution comes to me, I'll let you know, but it sounds like time is not on our side. I imagine that Rowle and Gibbon will go as soon as possible."

"The rest of the meeting was relatively tame." Severus was eager to finish his report and crawl into bed. "It was the usual talk of foreign relations and business at the Ministry. Oh, and the Dark Lord ordered me to 'do something about Neville Longbottom.'"

"Mm." The twinkle came back. Dim, but there nonetheless. "Which Auror gets the honour of being Disarmed by Augusta?"

Severus stopped himself from snorting, as he knew that would aggravate his headache. "I was considering John Dawlish," he said. "The man has taken a few too many Stunners in his career. Lately, most of his work has been with the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, where all he does is herd defenceless muggle-borns to Azkaban and fill out paperwork."

"What will you do when the attempt to capture Augusta fails?" Dumbledore questioned, to Severus's irritation.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he snapped, "I'll answer that question when I do not feel as though my body is ready to shut down."

"Of course, my boy." The portrait held up its hands in a placating manner. "Go get some rest. We will talk more later."

"Indubitably." His drawl bordered on a sigh, and he wearily retreated to his chambers.

Against his better judgement, alongside his fourth headache potion, he downed a glass of Firewhisky.


	15. The Dark Lord Comes to Hogwarts

**Author's note:** I made a slight change to the timeline in the previous chapter: I initially said that Snape was called around 5 am, but I've gone back and changed that to 3 am. The reason for this is I consulted the book, and Harry sees Voldemort going to Hogwarts in the "pre-dawn," after they escape the Manor. The time I set the Death Eater meeting contradicts Voldy's whereabouts, so I fixed it. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

Guest: Thank you! This chapter actually addresses that. He gets the Elder Wand from Dumbledore's tomb shortly after the meeting. Harry has a vision of it while he's at the cottage. I really like the idea of the first chapter being like a montage of important moments from the Marauders era, and especially of it ending with Snape getting his Dark Mark. If I searched the Internet and found the information, I could put dates before each one to really clearly show the progression. I'll think on that one.

Thomasahagney: Thank you! I will strive to.

 **Warnings:** Swearing

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced page 404 of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ while writing this.

 **The Dark Lord Comes to Hogwarts**

Following the meeting regarding the Trio's escape from Malfoy Manor, Severus managed to get in half an hour of rest, which left much to be desired. And then the Mark started to burn again—thankfully, not quite so viciously as it had earlier. Still half-asleep and groping around for his discarded robes, he thought blearily, _I'm glad I only drank one glass of Firewhisky._

"He's calling again?" Dumbledore's portrait asked, disbelief colouring its voice, as Severus rushed by, clothed in Death Eater attire.

"Obviously," was the response that Severus tossed over his shoulder as he scurried down the stairs.

He hurried out of the castle and through the courtyard. As it turned out, he didn't even need to reach the Apparation spot; the Dark Lord was waiting for him. In his surprise—though he tried to mask it—his footsteps briefly stalled, before picking up again, faster than before. When he arrived in front of the Dark Lord, he hastened to assume a kneeling position, grateful that it was only five in the morning and that the students were all in bed. Groveling at another wizard's feet did not lend itself to the menacing image that he tried to project.

"Headmaster. Rise."

The Dark Lord was already moving away, and Severus followed slightly behind, far more anxious than he would ever admit. They walked through the grounds, their figures moving noiselessly and only vaguely illuminated in the pre-dawn haze. When they reached the lake, the Dark Lord spoke: "I shall join you in the castle shortly. Leave me now."

With a bow, Severus retreated to the Headmaster's office.

* * *

"Severus, my boy! That was quick-"

"Albus, shut up." The shock of the Dark Lord's arrival was throwing him off of his usual eloquence. "The Dark Lord is here. He sent me away—I suppose he is roaming the grounds right now—but he will be coming in soon. I do not know what he wants."

"Ah. Well. We will find out soon enough." And with that, the portrait closed its eyes.

Dumbledore's reaction—or lack thereof—made Severus rather suspicious of the old Headmaster; Dumbledore always knew more than he was letting on, even in death. The Dark Lord showing up at Hogwarts with no warning could not be a sign of pleasant things to come. The man was probably here to implement some scheme, and Severus was willing to bet that Dumbledore had an idea of what it was. Sadly, this was not the time to interrogate the painting.

Severus sat down. He felt like a first-year student who had been caught flouting the rules, a sensation he had not experienced in quite a while. To keep himself occupied, he opened one of the desk drawers and pretended to organize its contents—not that it could be more organized than it already was. He was meticulous about keeping his workspace tidy, a habit borne from working with potions ingredients that had the potential to combust rather spectacularly.

The wait was agonizing, but finally, Severus felt a tug at the wards he kept around the office, letting him know that the Dark Lord was standing outside by the gargoyle. Instead of simply opening the door, Severus went down to meet the other wizard. This was a good move, he discovered, for the Dark Lord led the way back up the stairs and proceeded to sit behind the desk, forcing him to take the guest's chair in front. The unspoken message was clear: "You may be Headmaster, but I am in charge."

"What brings you here, my Lord?" Severus risked prompting, praying that his master's temper had cooled.

The Dark Lord stared at him, red eyes unblinking, for a seemingly-endless moment before answering. "I believe that it would be prudent to secure Hogsmeade. I want a curfew placed on the village, Dementors patrolling the streets, and a Caterwauling Charm to prevent anybody from Apparating in after seven at night without my knowledge. Hogwarts is located close to the village, you will oversee these changes."

"Yes, my Lord," Severus complied, bowing his head. "I will do that right away."

He wanted to ask what had brought on this new bout of paranoia, but he did not dare. Perhaps the Dark Lord thought Potter would try to access Hogsmeade, although Severus's first thought was that such a stunt would be supremely stupid, even for Potter; on the other hand, he and Granger had been to Godric's Hollow.

"Good. I trust that you will not disappoint me."

"Of course, my Lord. My only desire is to serve you." He had said these words countless times, and still they made him want to vomit, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. It was a far cry from the promise of power to which he had been so attracted in his youth.

"As it should be." The Dark Lord looked pleased. "Now tell me, how comes your progress with unassisted flight?"

Severus wasn't given a chance to respond before his mind was being invaded again. The Dark Lord had seen this collection of memories earlier, during the Death Eater meeting, when he had been searching for lies regarding the issue of Ronald Weasley's supposed illness. Then, he had merely glanced over the mental images; this time, he was scrutinizing them carefully.

"You have done well," the Dark Lord said when he withdrew. "Continue practicing. I want it to become as automatic as walking."

"Yes, my Lord," Severus said. He inwardly cursed whatever plans were swimming around in the Dark Lord's brain. He also cursed the headache that was back full-force. Absently, he wondered if one's mental faculties could suffer from repeated exposure to Legilimency, the way that repeated exposure to the Cruciatus could cause permanent nerve damage, if the victim did not receive medical attention. With any luck, he would never find out.

A soft snoring filled the room, distracting both wizards.

Severus glared at Dumbledore over the Dark Lord's thin shoulder. "That thing is a nuisance." His tone overflowed with irritation. "Would you like me to silence it, my Lord?

"No, leave it," the Dark Lord answered, his pale lips curving upwards slightly. "It amuses me that it vexes you so. Does it give you much trouble?"

"When it is awake, it often provides commentary," Severus answered truthfully. "I prefer it when it sleeps."

The ghost of a smile that graced the Dark Lord's face suddenly turned into a full-fledged grin, an expression that was more terrifying than his scowl—although not more terrifying than his Unforgivable Curses. "You and it may be equally interested to know what I have procured."

From the sleeve of his robe, the Dark Lord revealed a wand. The stick was long and bore intricate carvings, depicting clusters of elderberries. The object was familiar to Severus, as he had been employed at the school of its previous owner for almost two decades. _Fucking hell._ _  
_

"My Lord," he breathed reverently, meanwhile imagining resurrecting Dumbledore so he could kill the man again. He would enjoy it this time. They were going to have a long talk later.

"I traced its whereabouts from the wand-maker Gregorovitch, to Gellert Grindelwald, and finally to Albus Dumbledore. The old fool thought that he could hide it after his death, but it is mine now, and with it, I will beat his precious Golden Boy! I will triumph over Harry Potter!" By the end, the Dark Lord's voice had risen to a shout, and he was undeniably gloating. He held the wand up above his head as though it were a torch, looking like the madman that he was, intoxicated with the prospect of his victory.

And then he was calm again, his mood turning on a dime. "I will take my leave now." He tucked the Elder Wand back into the safety of his gauzy black robes. "Keep the students in check."

"Of course, my Lord." Severus rose as the Dark Lord did and bowed deeply as his master swept past. "Would you like me to accompany you to the gates?"

"That will not be necessary." The Dark Lord paused, a spidery, skeletal hand on the open door. "And Severus."

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Find me Harry Potter."


	16. Traditions and Frustrations

**Author's note:** This chapter is mostly playing around with Snape's emotions, and tying up the loose ends of the portrait issue. I don't think the making of a portrait was ever discussed in the books; forgive me if I'm wrong. I touch briefly on how it works in my imagination.

A huge thanks to everybody who reads this story. It has over 5000 views, which completely amazes me. I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

Thomasahagney: Thank you! I'm glad that you thought so.

Guest: You're right, the first one was the visit to Grindelwald. I didn't even remember that Harry had had that second vision until I decided to double check the Malfoy until I was scanning the book for when the Gringotts robbery took place and that part caught my eye. Woops. And I imagine I'll try to get at least general dates so I can guesstimate (read: fabricate) dates. The mudblood incident definitely took place at the end of fifth year, though. Thanks as always for another lovely review!

4LJ: Thank you! I'm glad that you're enjoying it.

 **Warnings:** None

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **Traditions and Frustrations**

Severus and Dumbledore did have a lengthy conversation, during which, as was routine, there was much pacing on Severus's part. By the end, Severus remained convinced that he should have had particular pieces of information—for example, the fact that Dumbledore had been master of the Elder Wand since defeating Grindelwald, the secretive old codger—and was more than a little frustrated with the old Headmaster's less-than-satisfactory excuses.

"That a wildly-powerful, fabled wand does not merely exist in bedtime stories, but in real life, and is an object that the Dark Lord would seek—that is 'not of consequence?' Pray tell, Albus, in what reality do you live?"

The response was a noncommittal half-shrug.

"You are infuriatingly obstinate, Dumbledore!"

"Ah, well, what is the saying? Something about the cat calling the kettle black?"

 _Stupid,_ stupid _twinkling eyes._

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm going back to bed."

Dumbledore called after him as he walked away: "When you wake up, we can discuss your portrait again."

"Then let us hope that I sleep for all eternity," he retorted, before stomping away, like a temperamental four-year-old.

* * *

And indeed, the nagging began when Severus re-entered the office, after only a few hours of disappointingly restless sleep.

"Think about it, my boy, this is the perfect time to do it, what with most of the students at home."

After far too long of listening to Dumbledore natter on, Severus finally conceded. He contacted an artist in Diagon Alley, one that Dumbledore recommended, who promptly replied saying that he could come in that afternoon, if he liked. He had hoped that she would be scared off by a known Death Eater demanding her services—a nasty case of wizarding flu, studio closed for renovations, any excuse would have been acceptable—but, alas, he was granted no such respite.

Why Dumbledore was so insistent that he have a portrait, Severus did not know. With somebody else, he could have chalked it up to traditionalism; however, Dumbledore had never been known for being traditional, nor for being conservative—although a bit more of either wouldn't have done the man any harm. No, with Dumbledore, it was more likely that he simply enjoyed sticking his nose into issues that did not concern him.

The artist's studio was tucked away near the heart of Diagon Alley. The multiple, large windows and the glass ceiling made the space seem much bigger than it really was. Paintings of all varieties hung on the walls: trees whose leaves rustled in the fictional breeze, dogs whose tails wagged happily, and dramatic profiles in which one could see the hint of an eye blinking. There were also a couple of standard human portraits on display, although these were mute as they moved about their frames and watched the patrons come and go.

The artist herself made Severus think of a slightly less anti-social Sybill Trelawney, which did not endear her to him. She wore multiple layers of gossamer scarves and round glasses that seemed to magnify her eyes to twice their normal size, and she spoke in a high-pitched voice with a French accent. Severus guessed that she had been educated at Beauxbatons.

His knowledge of portrait magic was very limited. From what he understood, the portrait was infused with bits of the subject's innate personality as it was created—weaving together strands from the essence of the soul, or some other esoteric thing like that—hence the two-and-a-quarter hours of complicated spell-work. Later on, as was standard, he could visit his portrait, talk to it and teach it his mannerisms. He wasn't planning to do so.

Because of a sense of guilt, he charged the hefty cost of the portrait to his own Gringotts account, instead of charging it to the Hogwarts account, like he was supposed to. It seemed that he had contracted a touch of imposter syndrome during the errand: Only the _real_ Headmasters and Headmistresses got portraits, and he was merely a place holder, keeping the chair warm until the next person came along—preferably Minerva, who was actually worthy of the title. He hadn't even changed the curtains in his office; the space still housed a multitude of strange trinkets—he had once asked about their function, but Dumbledore had only smiled in response—and the Pensieve still resided on the table in the corner; it was the same desk, the same chair, and the same bookshelves. The Headmaster's territory didn't feel like his to tamper with.

Upon his return to the castle, he found himself confiding his feelings to Dumbledore, albeit snarkily. Clearly, the chronic sleep deprivation was catching up to him and affecting his sanity. It was a cold day in hell when Severus Snape acknowledged or admitted to having insecurities and being, Merlin forbid, just another human being. They were probably ice skating up there in the seventh layer.

"You are rather more of a fool than I imagined, if you truly believe that I should have a portrait hung on these walls. I am not a real Headmaster."

"That is not true, my boy."

"Fine, have it your way. But I am a _terrible_ Headmaster."

"Taking everything into consideration, you are doing a fine job at the present. Should you decide to keep the position after the war ends, you will do wonderfully."

"Are you basing that judgement on my performance now?"

"You are not at fault for Voldemort's wishes. All you can do is carry them out." Dumbledore was a master at answering a question without really answering it. He should have become a lawyer.

Severus winced as the Mark flared at the name, before shaking his head. "Albus, that is the most preposterous thing I have ever heard you say—and believe me, you have said many preposterous things over the years. I must behave as the _Dark Lord_ wishes because I signed my life away, which was _entirely_ my fault."

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed mildly, "and I think you've paid a high price for your mistake. You should give yourself a break."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no doubt that the other wizard was sincere, but how he managed it, Severus did not know. He thought that he would have preferred it if Dumbledore hated him, like a normal person, and continued to condemn him for the choices he had made in his youth. It wouldn't have been pleasant, especially considering how closely they worked, but he would have understood it. After all, he possessed an intimate knowledge of the inner workings of hatred.

* * *

The Astronomy Tower was already occupied when Severus arrived that night. There was a gasp when he came through the door behind her, and he found himself on the receiving end of a wand poised to attack.

"Oh- _oh._ Headmaster." Aurora Sinistra lowered her wand, though she didn't put it away.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Seeing as I would take great pleasure in reciprocating, I must advise against hexing me," he drawled.

"Concerned for my well-being, are you?" It was the kind of thing that she might have said when they were quasi-friends, but this time, it was no jest. This time, the Astronomy professor's tone was filled with genuine malevolence.

"Not hardly. I simply do not feel like having your bloody remains splattered all over this Tower."

"You could stop harassing me. Why are you here anyway? Somehow, I doubt it is to observe Jupiter. That would be far too innocuous for your type."

"I may go wherever I please in my own school. I do, in fact, have business up here, and you are impinging on it." He sneered and glanced at the muggle telescope that stood forgotten behind her. "That you are using such an instrument is offensive. Take it out of my sight."

She glared at him, a harsh expression to rival his own. "Hogwarts has been around for centuries," she began. "Its very being hums with magic, the architecture is practically a living entity. And while it is the finest magical institution in Britain, some of the children consider this place to be more than a school, they consider it to be a home. Or at least, they used to.

"Albus Dumbledore told us over and over again that you could be trusted, that you had seen the error of your ways and were dedicated to the 'Greater Good,' as he liked to call it. But he was wrong. You commit murder on the grounds, you torture students in the dungeons, students whom you should be _protecting,_ and you bring your Death Eater cohorts here to demoralize us further _._ Yours is a reign of terror. You say that the school belong to you, but it doesn't. It belongs to itself and the people who care about what goes on inside, and one of those people clearly is not you!"

There were quite a few similarities between an irate Aurora Sinistra and himself, a part of Severus mused distractedly. Even the ever-protective—overprotective—Lioness had not ripped into him as the Astronomy professor just had. Although that was most likely because Minerva had never been in the position to do so without a horde of children watching the verbally scarring exchange, and none of the faculty besides the twins willingly sought him out.

 _How dare you presume to know what goes on behind closed doors,_ he thought and wanted to say, but didn't. Instead, "Your self-righteous lecture fails to amuse me," was his bland reply.

"And you disgust me," Aurora hissed as she shrunk and pocketed her telescope and brushed past him. If one could take house points from faculty, she would have lost Ravenclaw at least ten for her insult's lack of ingenuity.

The Tower seemed to shake from the force of the door to the ramparts slamming, leaving Severus alone, as he usually was these days.


	17. Getaways

**Author's note:** I hope that you enjoy this chapter. I particularly enjoyed writing it, if the speed at which I'm getting it up is any indication. Please review!

Guest #1: Thank you! The majority of it was supposed to be humorous, so I'm glad that it met its mark. I love writing the stuff between Snape and Dumbledore. Snape always seems to have some sarcastic, witty remark on the tip of his tongue. And I definitely think that the portrait of Dumbledore simply likes rattling Snape's chain. He has to pass the time somehow! With the next vision, that's when he has it in the book, too. I don't think the timing really matters for how I'm going to structure that part, but I checked anyway. I will definitely include Snape getting his Dark Mark at the very least! I'm quite interested in exploring that, too.

Guest #2: Thank you! I'm glad that you think so.

Thomasahagney: Thank you!

 **Warnings:** None

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

 **Getaways**

"How are things with Dumbledore's Army?" There was, as there often was, amusement in the former Headmaster's voice.

"The worst of the insubordinate activity has ceased," Severus answered distractedly. "I think the catalyst was that the Carrows finally caught them releasing younger students from detentions. Michael Corner bore the brunt of their sadism. He will live, though."

Severus was sorting through the students' incoming mail, and the missive he had just opened was particularly relevant to the topic of discussion.

"As a matter of fact, I have a letter from Augusta Longbottom to her grandson here."

"Oh?"

"She says that although she was attacked, she is fine, and not to worry about her; that Neville really is Alice and Frank's son; that she is proud of him; and to continue 'sticking it to them.'"

"Well, that's lovely," Dumbledore said. "Mister Longbottom will be delighted. You must let that one go through."

"I don't know, it is awfully sentimental," Severus drawled. But he refolded the parchment, and it joined the other letters that had been approved.

"And how is Dawlish?"

Severus turned around to look at the portrait. "Recuperating in St. Mungo's," he replied with a shark-like smirk.

* * *

The next day, the staff reported that Neville Longbottom seemed to have dropped off the face of the planet. Alecto and Amycus were quite distressed that the boy had smuggled himself away, as it meant they did not get the pleasure of seeing him sent to Azkaban. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily when Severus relayed the news.

* * *

A couple weeks following Longbottom's vanishing act saw the Headmaster in another private meeting with the Dark Lord.

"Gibbon and Rowle are still searching for the blood traitors," his master said, narrowing his eyes and pursing his pale, thin lips in displeasure. "Their home was abandoned, many of their personal possessions gone. There is no trace of them. Those blundering _idiots_ at the Ministry somehow lost track of the family, even when monitoring them is all they were assigned to do."

Severus secretly felt relieved. Most likely, the Weasleys were under Fidelius Charm. Provided they were smart and used one of their own as Secret Keeper—they certainly had a big enough family for that—they would be safe. He did not know who the Dark Lord had surveying the Weasley home, as he had only been in charge of arranging observations during school breaks, but he suspected that they were in bad shape at the moment. Gibbon and Rowle were probably quite battered as well, given that it had been roughly seven weeks since the Dark Lord had instructed them to 'dismember' the Weasley clan, and they had yet to do so.

"I have added Yaxley to the case. Perhaps he will have better luck, or at least more intelligence."

Yaxley had been appointed Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement under the Dark Lord's power. He had fallen out of favour for a long while, starting back in August, when the Trio had infiltrated the Ministry. Apparently his position was on solid ground again. Really, it could be difficult to keep track of who was in the Dark Lord's good books and who was not.

"If you hadn't gone and lost the girl, we could have drawn them out of hiding. Hostages are always effective when it comes to these fools who care about _love._ As it is, that is a moot point."

"I am very sorry, my Lord."

For a moment, as the Dark Lord sent a red-eyed glare at him, he waited to be _crucio_ ed again. He had already endured the curse once this meeting, when the Dark Lord had discovered that Ginerva Weasley never came back to Hogwarts and that Severus—supposedly—did not know about it. He had thought feigning ignorance was the best policy; however, the Dark Lord's reaction to that was, "You _should_ have known," followed by a strong dose of the Cruciatus.

But the Dark Lord merely wrung together his skeletal hands, thankfully not reaching for his wand as Severus was anticipating. "The youngest boy would work, too, if we could get a hold of him. Unfortunately, he is with Harry Potter, and Potter has been laying low. Neither hide nor hair of him has been seen in over a month."

"The boy lacks common sense and revels in his fame," Severus offered. "I suspect that Potter will show his face sooner rather than later. He must be dying for some attention by now."

"Let us hope that you are right," the Dark Lord answered forebodingly.

* * *

Severus's reassurances to the Dark Lord proved correct: Potter and his sidekicks made the evening edition of the _Prophet_ a few days later.

 _UNDESIRABLE NO. 1 BREAKS INTO GRINGOTTS_

 _by Corianna Weatherly_

 _Does the Boy Who Lived, Undesirable Number One, Harry Potter himself have no moral scruples, or has he gone 'round the bend? The answer may be "both." On this day, May 1_ _st_ _, Harry Potter and his friends the blood traitor Ronald Weasley and the Mudblood Hermione Granger burst from the doors of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, the most secure place in the wizarding world, on the back of a dragon. Unlikely? Yes, but don't discount the story yet!_

 _Witnesses report that, as the three were pursued by wizards and goblins alike, the young Potter released a dragon that guarded the innermost vaults of Gringotts. The "Golden Trio," as they are nicknamed, jumped on the back of the beast, and it took flight. It burned and clawed its way up through the bowels of the bank and into the marble foyer, leaving ruins in its wake, and for its grand finale, used brute force to blast through the metal doors and launch itself into the sky._

Inserted here was a large black-and-white photograph of the damaged portion of the bank. People milled frantically about, and smoke drifted up from the rubble.

 _I spoke with Inglehart Travers, who works at the Ministry and was an innocent victim of the crime._

" _I thought that there was something amiss when I met 'Bellatrix Lestrange' heading into Gringotts," Travers begins his tale. "She was accompanied by a foreigner: Dragomir Despard from Transylvania, she said he was. Non-English-speaking friend aside, I had heard certain things regarding the Lestrange and the Malfoy families, so to meet Bellatrix in Diagon Alley was quite a surprise." When asked to elaborate, Travers refused._

" _We entered the bank, and identification was requested of Bellatrix, in the form of her wand. She presented it to the creature. It was new. I was again surprised, and I enquired about the maker of the wand. That is when I was Imperiused by Harry Potter, who was hiding under an invisibility cloak—which was hardly fair. He forced me to accept the story that was fed to me. The goblin with which they were dealing was also Imperiused._

" _I was then forced to accompany 'Bellatrix,' whom I now know must have been Granger, and 'Dragomir,' who must have been Weasley, and the goblin as they left the main atrium. Once we were away from prying eyes, Potter revealed himself, as well as yet another goblin. Beyond that, I don't know what happened. I was forced to leave, to hide myself away. Thankfully, I was not located in the section of the bank that got desecrated by the dragon."_

The article continued, enthusiastically talking about the danger of The Boy Who Lived and his use of an Unforgivable, but Severus didn't read it. Whether or not the part about the dragon was true—although it probably was, considering the sizeable damage to Gringotts—Travers was going to be in hot water, he knew that for sure. The Dark Lord wouldn't care that Weasley and Granger had been disguised and Potter concealed by the cloak, he would only care that the man had been duped by three teenagers—three teenagers who had been evading and escaping his clutches for months, he, the most powerful Dark wizard alive.

As for the Gryffindors in question, Severus wondered if they knew how much luck they had. To rob Gringotts and not get caught was one thing—the only other person to even attempt it had been Quirinus Quirrell, acting on the Dark Lord's orders—but to rob Gringotts, get caught, and actually survive to tell the tale was another. And now, Severus thought dryly, their challenge was to not get dumped off the back of an angry dragon and break their necks.

There was quite an uproar in the Great Hall, dinner lying forgotten on the plates. Obviously, he was not the only one to have seen the article. It would be difficult to miss, as it was on the front page, and the headline alone would have been enough to cause a commotion.

Sneaking a glance around the High Table, Severus saw that his colleagues, including the Carrow twins, all wore identical expressions of shock. In Minerva's eyes, he also caught a glimmer of pride, which made him want to snarl. Of course she would commend the boy for such a stunt; it had been happening since Potter's first year at Hogwarts, beginning with the flying lesson when he broke the rules and was _rewarded_ with a place on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Everybody's attention was captured by a voice rising above the clamour. At the Ravenclaw table, Terry Boot, the dunderhead, had stood up on the bench and was now waving the newspaper above his head.

"Harry is alive and he broke into Gringotts!" Boot yelled at the top of his lungs. "He and Ron and Hermione rode a dragon! They're still out there! They're still fighting! Don't despair!"

Some of the other students applauded, and some of them even cheered. Their triumph was fleeting, however, and quickly ended when the Carrows swooped down from the platform and dragged the seventh-year boy away. The children's voices went from excited to horrified.

Severus stood, banging his hands against the tabletop as he did so. The noise reverberated through the hall, and silence fell immediately. "We do not tolerate such defiance here. Mister Boot deserves what is coming to him"—his voice dropped to a low growl—"as does Mister Potter. Finish your dinner quietly. The next person to cause a ruckus will be punished accordingly: _Publicly."_

The oppressed mood returned, weighing even heavier than before. Minerva, Aurora, Filius, Pomona, Bathsheda, Rolanda, and Poppy all turned their death glares onto Severus. Slughorn, meanwhile, just gave him a sorrowful look.

He supposed that Potter was more than just a typical public figure now. Despite the fact that his greatest talent was sheer dumb luck, the boy was a symbol of hope. Terry Boot's words rang true: It bolstered people to know that somebody was "still out there" and "still fighting."

Severus lingered long enough to see the students file out of the Great Hall, led back to their respective common rooms by their Heads of House. Then the Mark started to burn.


	18. The Battle Begins

**Author's note:** It's hard to believe that we've gotten this far. I really had no idea what I was in for when I wrote the first chapter, which was only intended to be a one-shot (and then it became a two-shot, and a three-shot, and so on). Anyways, I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

Roserayrose: Thank you!

Thomasahagney: I'm glad you liked it!

 **Warnings:** Swearing

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 480-482 of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ while writing this.

 **The Battle Begins**

"I cannot believe the level of _incompetence_ that surrounds me. It's astonishing! He escapes from Tottenham Court Road, he escapes from Godric's Hollow, he escapes from _Malfoy Manor,_ and now he escapes from a heavily-guarded building in the middle of _Diagon Alley!"_

The circle of Death Eaters shrunk back as their master raged on, sufficiently cowed.

"How dare you let the Mudblood impersonate you, and how dare you not realize it was an imposter!" These words were directed at Bellatrix and Travers respectively. "It would have been so _easy_ to capture Potter, if you were not all so _stupid._ It seems like you are actually _trying_ to let him get away! I should strike you dead, the whole lot of you!"

Beside the Dark Lord, Nagini, encased in a shimmering, transparent, magical bubble of protection, hissed several times, her forked tongue flickering in and out of her mouth. The Dark Lord reached a hand into the bubble and stroked the snake soothingly on the head.

A switch seemed to flip in his brain, perhaps because of whatever Nagini had said. With a marked decrease in fury, he added onto his previous statement, "But not today. You are dismissed. _Find me Harry Potter._ Severus, stay."

Severus watched as the Death Eaters displayed the ritual requirement of worship and then took their leave.

"My Lord?" He was expecting a Legilimency attack; surprisingly, none came.

Instead, the Dark Lord narrowed his eyes and drew his snake closer to his side. "Harry Potter may try to enter the school. I want you to keep an eye out for him. Pay attention to the Hogsmeade alarm, as well. Due to the curfew, there should be no issue with him entering the village without our knowledge; it is essential, however, that you are aware."

"Of course, my Lord."

The other wizard nodded his approval. "You are faithful, Severus," he said, sounding thoughtful. "You have never failed me."

Unless he had dreamed every single Cruciatus Curse of which he had been the target, Severus could certainly think of times when the Dark Lord had held a different opinion of his track record. He wasn't about to bring that up, though.

"I _am_ faithful, my Lord," he replied submissively. "All I wish for is to serve you and to serve you well."

The Dark Lord studied for a moment longer before nodding once more. "You are dismissed."

* * *

It wasn't until Severus was trekking back up to his office that Dumbledore's cryptic words suddenly flashed through his head: _"There will come a time when Lord Voldemort will seem to fear for the life of his snake."_ And indeed, Nagini had been present the entire meeting, which was not always the case; in addition to that, the Dark Lord had caged her, which seemed more intended to keep other things out than to keep her in.

"I believe that we are approaching the climax of the war," Severus said to the portrait of Dumbledore, after filling him in on the events of the evening. The portrait had considered the bit about the dragon to be "fantastic." Severus promised himself that if he ever began understanding the old coot, he would check himself into St. Mungo's without further thought on the matter. There he would probably find himself in the bed next to Gilderoy Lockhart's.

"If Potter comes to Hogwarts, as the Dark Lord said he might, then there is no way he won't be caught, and a battle will ensue—not a skirmish, but full-fledged combat. The Dark Lord won't hesitate to summon all of his forces, should he or one of his Death Eaters find Potter wandering the halls. And of course, I cannot see Minerva and the likes letting the boy go without a fight."

Confidently, Dumbledore said, "He will come. He has a task to complete, and that task ends here. Do try to reach him before the masses."

Severus raised an eyebrow, but, resigned to the fact that Dumbledore wouldn't tell him anything, didn't ask what made Dumbledore so sure. "Don't worry, Albus," he said coolly. "I will pass on the information he needs, although I doubt that he will listen."

* * *

Somebody Apparated into Hogsmeade later that night. Because he had cast the spell, Severus felt the Caterwauling Charm go off, and a letter for him arrived not long after. While unsigned, it obviously came from one of the Death Eaters.

The message explained that it had been a false alarm, that the owner of the Hog's Head Inn had just been letting his cat outside. The Death Eaters had seen a Patronus, which they had originally thought to be a stag; when Aberforth cast his—a goat—that theory was disproved. The note ended with, "We didn't call the Dark Lord, so everything is fine."

Severus was not fooled. Thanks to Dumbledore, he was certain that it had been Potter, and that Albus's brother had just saved the boy's sorry skin—Granger's and Weasley's, too.

He un-warded and opened the bottom drawer of his desk, and from it he removed half of a ripped photograph and a piece of parchment. _"Could ever have been friends with Gellert Grindelwald. I think her mind's going, personally! Lots of love, Lily"_ said the page. He had taken it, along with Lily's photo, from Number Twelve Grimmauld Place back in the summer.

Tucking the two keepsakes into the innermost pocket of his robes, he stood. While he could remain cooped up in the office, he would rather do something that seemed more productive than wearing a hole in the carpet with his pacing. The tension was cracking his façade of detachment.

"Potter is in the vicinity," he said shortly. "I am going to prowl the halls."

"Severus," Dumbledore prevented him from making a quick and painless escape, speaking with a gravity that he didn't often hear, "you've done well."

For some reason, that statement made him uncomfortable. It sounded more like a death sentence than praise. He wrestled with what to say. In the end, he said nothing at all, merely giving the portrait an unreadable look. Then he descended the stairs.

Before he turned to go down the corridor, he changed the password to the office, acting on a rare whim. As a small nod to the man who had given him a second chance, the gargoyle would now admit anybody who uttered the word "Dumbledore."

* * *

There was pain radiating from the Dark Mark, but it wasn't the fiery agony of the Dark Lord calling. No, this was a follower sending out an alert, and the only reason that they were supposed to press the Mark was if they had Potter.

Severus travelled through the empty castle. Alecto, for some reason, had made Filius admit her into the Ravenclaw Tower earlier—despite the Dark Lord's conviction of his loyalty, there were still things that he was not allowed to know—and it was in that direction which Severus headed. His attention was piqued further when he caught a glimpse of Minerva's tabby cat Patronus racing in another direction.

He paused, tense, waiting for somebody to appear, or for some indication that somebody was about to appear. Everything was still. He continued on, wand raised and ready to attack or defend at a split second's notice.

It was on the third floor that he heard footsteps. Not ready to reveal himself just yet, he ducked behind a row of armour that decorated the corridor, his black robes making him disappear into the shadows.

Minerva's form soon came into view. She hurried along in her dressing gown, a determined look on her face. Although she appeared to be alone, Severus's ears picked up two more pairs of footsteps jogging after her. Probably Potter and either Weasley or Granger, hidden under that bloody invisibility cloak.

He followed the trio, still concealed by the row of armour, but it didn't take long for Minerva to become aware of his presence; he hadn't bothered to silence or disillusion himself.

"Who's there?" she asked, coming to a halt, wand raised. The other footsteps stopped as well.

"It is I," the Headmaster drawled, emerging from the gloom. "Where are the Carrows?"

"Wherever you told them to be, I expect, Severus," Minerva said. Her expression, lit by the flickering of the torchlight, gave away nothing.

It was ironic how she thought that he and the Carrows worked in perfect harmony, that the twins did everything he told them without question, and that they wouldn't have leapt at the chance to be rid of him. On the contrary, in-fighting amongst the Death Eaters was as regular as the sunrise, with each of them vying for more power within the ranks.

"I was under the impression that Alecto had apprehended an intruder."

"Really? And what gave you that impression?"

In response, Severus made a slight flexing movement of his left arm, where the Mark was branded into his skin.

"Oh, but naturally," Minerva said airily. "You Death Eaters have your own private means of communication, I forgot."

He ignored both her words and her tone, opting instead to carefully scrutinize the seemingly-empty space around her. He had hoped that there would be something the cloak didn't cover, just the tip of a shoe or an elbow that would tell him where Potter was standing, but there was no such sign.

"I did not know that it was your night to patrol the corridors, Minerva."

"You have some objection?" She raised her eyebrows, tilting her head slightly upwards.

"I wonder what could have brought you out of your bed at this late hour?" he countered.

"I thought I heard a disturbance."

"Really? But all seems calm." He met her eyes and was sorely tempted to Legilimize her. Because he wasn't his master, brutally raping the minds of those who were supposed to be allies, he resisted the urge. "Have you seen Harry Potter, Minerva? Because if you have, I must insist-"

He cut himself off. Casting a Shield Charm took priority over interrogating the Gryffindor witch, for she had evidently decided that it was time to act on her pent-up anger and render his much-despised self unconscious.

For a moment, she looked surprised at the swiftness of his defence, but she recovered quickly and sent a torch flying at him. He turned the ring of flames into a black serpent, which she blasted into smoke: The smoke she transfigured into a swarm of daggers. Severus avoided them by pulling the closest suit of armour in front of him and using it as a physical shield.

Then a high-pitched voice called out, "Minerva!"

Filius and Pomona were running through the corridor, all warning of their approach lost in the clanging of the blades pummeling the armour, the sound of metal on metal echoing endlessly. Slughorn trailed uselessly behind his colleagues, out of breath from the exertion.

"No!" The Charms professor raised his wand. "You'll do no more murder at Hogwarts!"

 _Shit._ Severus knew that he was a skilled dueller, but he also knew that he couldn't take on three other skilled duellers at once—especially when he didn't want any major harm to come to them, and they were probably intent on killing him. The only non-suicidal option was to flee.

Filius's spell caused the armour with which he had defended himself to come alive and wrap its cold arms around him, trapping him. He used brute force to send it flying, and he heard it crash into the opposite wall as he turned and sprinted away.

With the three Heads of House hurtling after him, he ran into an abandoned classroom. Fortunately, this one had windows, as he wasn't interested in blasting a hole in one of the stone walls. After shattering the glass with a quick charm—he also wasn't interested in or desperate enough to throw himself head-first into something that could give him a million lacerations—he jumped out into the night. Whether or not this was how the Dark Lord had intended for him to use unassisted flight, he did not know. Either way, he was certainly thankful for the ability now.

"Coward!" Minerva's shrill scream reached his ears. _"Coward!"_

Although Severus had a deep-seated loathing of that word, he was not about to turn back, not yet.

Harry Potter was at Hogwarts, and the Dark Lord was on his way. The battle had officially begun.


	19. The End

**Author's note #1:** I have a predicament: To include Peter Pettigrew in the epilogue or not to include him. At the moment, I have a scene sketched out with Snape and the Marauders, minus Pettigrew (because I'm leaning towards not including him). Pettigrew stays with the Dark Lord until the end, that I can recall. Correct me if I'm wrong. What do you all think?

Incidentally, thank you so much to everyone who has read _Headmaster Snape_! I hope that you enjoy this chapter. There will be one more. Please review!

 **Author's note #2:** There was a brief issue, in which I accidentally uploaded the previous chapter again. As you can see, that is fixed now. Thanks for your patience.

Guest #1: Thank you! Yes, that was my intention. I think Dumbledore suspected Snape wouldn't make it. I'm assuming the portrait wouldn't know that Draco had disarmed him before Snape arrived, but it might suspect that Voldemort would assume Snape had power over the Elder Wand, just because Voldemort thinks Snape killed Dumbledore in cold blood. (I hope that makes sense.) Writing that part definitely pulled at my heart strings. So did writing the end of this chapter. I feel like my writing has improved over the course of this story, or at least my confidence in my abilities has increased. It's been a lot of fun. As for the prequel, I'm writing ahead a bit, and I am going through with the scenes from the Marauders era idea. I just finished writing the Mudblood incident, actually. I think there will be a surprising amount of material before we even get to the events of _Philospher's Stone._

Guest #2: Thank you! It would have been great to do something from McGonagall's POV, but it's all been Snape and just for consistency, I think it should stay that way.

Thomasahagney: Thank you! There will be one more chapter after this. However, I will also be writing a prequel that covers Snape's Hogwarts years through the summer before this begins. I'm not ready to give up this world yet :)

 **Warnings:** Well… character death (sorry, but we all knew it was coming)

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 515-516 and 524-528 of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ while writing this.

 **The End**

Severus cursed internally. Although it wasn't for lack of trying, the Dark Lord's forces appeared to be winning. Hidden by a Notice-Me-Not Charm, the darkness of post-midnight, his black robes, and the further shadow of an alcove, Severus watched the battle but did not actively take part. The Dark Lord had sent him into the fray with explicit instructions not to be mortally wounded, as though being mortally wounded were at the top of his agenda.

What actually was at the top of his agenda was finding Potter; he needed to find Potter, and he needed to make the boy listen to what he had to say. There had been no sign of him insofar, but Severus couldn't imagine that he was just holed up inside and resting on his laurels. Potter always had to be at the centre of things—that's what had gotten him into so much trouble over the years: Run in headfirst, think about it later.

It felt like Severus had caught sight of everybody _except_ Harry Potter. He had seen Luna Lovegood rush to assist Minerva as the Transfiguration Mistress was in combat with both Yaxley and a minor Death Eater, whose name Severus did not know; he had seen Remus Lupin struck down by Dolohov, a sight that made Severus wince, despite the fact that he had no care for the werewolf; he had seen Padma and Parvati Patil duelling with Selwyn, alongside Neville Longbottom, who had been duelling Gibbon; he had even seen Dumbledore's painted impression hurrying through the frames in the Entrance Hall.

But still no Harry Potter. No Golden Trio at all. It was most frustrating.

Severus stepped out of the security of his alcove. He was going to venture back inside—he would check the Headmaster's office, maybe Dumbledore had given Potter something to do there, although that seemed like grasping at straws—but he didn't even make it two feet in that direction. Another hooded figure had blocked his path.

"Severus," Lucius panted. Severus was surprised that the blonde wizard had made it through the battlefield alive when he had no wand. "The Dark Lord wants you. He is in Hogsmeade, in the Shrieking Shack. He said that there is a service he requires of you."

* * *

The only light in the Shrieking Shack came from an oil lamp which sat on a small table. Visible through the only window not boarded-up were flashes of light, red and green sparks that came from the war being waged at the castle. By the window is where the Dark Lord stood, with Nagini in her enchanted cage coiled up beside him.

Severus and Lucius both knelt, but whereas Lucius was called immediately to rise and dismissed, Severus remained on the ground for several harrowing seconds. When at last he was told to stand, the Dark Lord did not speak, merely regarding him with a cool look, his white hands fidgeting with his wand.

Finally, Severus prompted, "My Lord?"

"What have you to say?" the other wizard asked snappishly, as though Severus were impinging on him.

Severus hesitated. He didn't have a clue about what the Dark Lord might be taking umbrage at. Instead of asking why he was summoned, because the prompting had already failed once, he requested, "Let me rejoin the battle. Please, my Lord, their resistance is crumbling-"

The interruption was swift: "And it is doing so without your help. Skilled wizard though you are, Severus, I do not think you will make much difference now. We are almost there… almost."

"Let me find the boy. Let me bring you Potter. I know I can find him, my Lord. Please."

The Dark Lord was silent again. And then, with eerie calm, he said, "I have a problem, Severus."

"My Lord?" The Potions Master had been in the Dark Lord's service for long enough to realize that there was always something bubbling under the surface. This knowledge made him anxious.

The Dark Lord raised the Elder Wand, and Severus had to suppress a flinch. While the Dark Lord held the artifact delicately between two fingers, a stance that didn't suggest he was about to _crucio_ Severus, the instinct was still there.

"Why doesn't it work for me, Severus?"

"My- my Lord?" The question caught him off-guard. That was possibly the last thing he had expected the Dark Lord to say. "I do not understand. You- you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand."

"No"—Severus suppressed another flinch—"I have performed my usual magic. I am extraordinary, but this wand… no. It has not revealed the wonders it has promised. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured from Ollivander all those years ago. No difference." In the background, from her bubble, Nagini hissed softly.

Severus's mind was whirring. How was this relevant to him? And then he realized: The Dark Lord may have obtained the Elder Wand, but he had been the one to kill the wand's previous owner. Although Dumbledore's death had been planned between them, perhaps that did not matter, with the wand's literally-bloody history. Was it possible that the Elder Wand's allegiance was not to the wizard who currently wielded it?

His gaze went to Nagini, who seemed to be watching the scene attentively and with glee, if showing such emotions were possible for a snake. He suddenly had an awful, sneaking suspicion that this would not end well for him.

He forced his attention back to the Dark Lord as his master began to pace around him in a semi-circle, still sounding very controlled. "I have thought long and hard, Severus… do you know why I have called you back from the battle?"

"No, my Lord, but I beg you will let me return. Let me find Potter." He didn't care at this point that he sounded like he was desperate—he was; time was running out, and Potter still did not know that a piece of the Dark Lord lived inside him, that he would have to die in order for the Light to win the war. Not only that, but giving Potter this knowledge was the final task set for him by Dumbledore. It was the only thing that the old Headmaster had asked and Severus had not done.

"You sound like Lucius," the Dark Lord said disdainfully. "Neither of you understands Potter as I do. He does not need finding. Potter will come to me. I know his weakness, you see, his one great flaw. He will hate watching the others struck down around him, knowing that it is for him that it happens. He will want to stop it at any cost. He will come."

"But my Lord," Severus dared to protest, "he might be killed accidentally by one other than yourself-"

"My instructions to my Death Eaters have been perfectly clear. _Capture_ Potter. Kill his friends—the more, the better—but do not kill him." The Dark Lord gave Severus a shrewd look. "But it is of you that I wished to speak, Severus, not Harry Potter. You have been very valuable to me. Very valuable."

"My Lord knows I seek only to serve him," Severus answered. After a brief hesitation, he added, risky though it was, "But- let me go and find the boy, my Lord. Let me bring him to you. I know I can-"

"I have told you, no!"

He did flinch this time.

"My concern at the moment, Severus, is what will happen when I finally meet the boy."

"My Lord, there can be no question, surely?"

"But there _is_ a question, Severus. There is." The Dark Lord's footsteps came to a halt. His agitation was very thinly veiled. "Why did both the wands I have used fail when directed at Harry Potter?"

"I- I cannot answer that, my Lord."

"Can't you?" There was a pause, during which Severus was on the receiving end of a look suggesting that the Dark Lord thought he lying. "My wand of yew did everything of which I asked it, Severus, except to kill Harry Potter. Twice it failed. Ollivander told me under torture of the twin cores, told me to take another's wand. I did so, but Lucius's wand shattered upon meeting Potter's."

"I"—he found himself watching the large snake again as he tried to argue against the Dark Lord's skepticism—"I have no explanation, my Lord."

The Dark Lord continued as though he hadn't spoken. "I sought a third wand, Severus. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore."

Black eyes snapping back to meet his master's red ones, Severus felt what little colour his sallow skin possessed drain from his face. "My Lord," he tried again, thinking that he had nothing left to lose, "let me go to the boy-"

"All this long night," the Dark Lord cut him off with barely more than a whisper, "when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here, wondering, wondering, why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be, refuses to perform as legend says it must perform for its rightful owner… and I think I have the answer. Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever man, after all, Severus. You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen."

"My Lord-"

"The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore." His fear was confirmed, and it made him feel sick to his stomach with anticipation. "While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine."

"My Lord!" He tried to protest, automatically raising his own wand in defence.

"It cannot be any other way," the Dark Lord said coldly. "I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last."

The Dark Lord waved the Elder Wand. Nothing happened, and for a short-lived moment, Severus had a wild, foolish hope that he would be spared. But then Nagini's bubble rolled forward, encasing him, and the Dark Lord was hissing, speaking in Parseltongue, and Nagini's fangs were biting through his neck.

Severus had returned from Death Eater Meetings with injuries ranging from gaping wounds to broken bones; he had been tortured with the Cruciatus Curse more times than he could count; he had writhed on the ground in pure agony for nearly an hour as the black ink of the Mark had seeped into his forearm, the Dark Magic permeating his body and sealing the deal on his eternal servitude to the Dark Lord. A stranger to pain he was not.

This, though, this was like nothing he had ever experienced before. His knees buckled. He was barely aware of the strangled scream that left his mouth, nor could he tell what the Dark Lord said as the apathetic wizard strode away, Nagini following close behind, leaving Severus alone to bleed out on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.

Although it was useless, he lifted a hand to try and staunch the wound at his neck. It seemed like his entire arm shook uncontrollably.

From out of nowhere, a familiar, tousle-haired figure appeared. How the boy had done it—any of it, really—Severus could not even begin to guess. _"Harry must not know, not until the last moment, not until it is necessary,"_ said Dumbledore's voice in his head. It was this that spurred him into grabbing Potter's robes and pulling him close. The two of them were almost nose-to-nose. Everything hurt.

"Take… it…." Everything hurt more. "Take… it…."

He dedicated the last of his energy to this final attempt, to expelling his memories into the air: a whole slew of them, not only the one containing that conversation with Dumbledore, but moments from his life that would explain the entire story. It was honesty when he told Dumbledore that he didn't want to leave a reminder, a legacy in the form of a portrait, but he suddenly wanted to have somebody not hate him, even if it was only for the brief time between when Potter viewed the memories and when Potter sacrificed himself—although with his luck, Potter would still hate him even after viewing the memories.

There was a rustling noise, and his grip on—what was he gripping and why was he gripping it?—slackened as his vision clouded over. The world was strangely fuzzy- no, grainy. Grainy and faded, especially around the edges, like an old muggle photograph with a vignette effect.

For some reason, Lily was there—or maybe she wasn't, maybe he was hallucinating, or dreaming—he didn't even know if he was conscious. Anyway, he thought she was there, although the only part of her that he could make out were her eyes, which were downcast, looking at something in her hands, or perhaps at the floor, which he could no longer feel.

"Look at me," he tried to say, not sure if he succeeded, as he couldn't hear himself, because his ears felt blocked and sound had ceased to exist.

But he must have gotten the words out—that, or she somehow knew what he wanted. It wouldn't surprise him; weren't the dead all-knowing? Then why did he feel so confused? He was dead, wasn't he? Being dead was awfully painful, so hell, he decided, he must be in hell. Purgatory—hadn't he made a joke about purgatory to somebody? Wait, no, Lily wouldn't be there if he were in hell. This was all too complicated.

In any case, he must have gotten the words out, for Lily, or the apparition of Lily, raised her green eyes to meet his. They seemed to glow in the dark. They were beautiful. And then they, too, faded, as everything became nothing.


	20. Redemption

**Author's note:** Thank you, thank you, and thank you to everyone who has stayed with me through this story! Writing it has been a blast, and I hope that I have done—and will continue to do—justice to JK Rowling's world. I will be doing a prequel, the first chapter of which will hopefully be posted in a week or so. I'll put up a notice here when it is. A final thank you to those who have read this!

 **Guest:** The truth about that line is it's only in the movies, and I'd completely forgotten about it until you brought it up. Now that you mention it, though, ugh, I loved that part. About the Shrieking Shack vs. the boathouse, I agree. To me, there's something full-circle about it, considering Snape's history with the place. I've taken you up on your angry Lily suggestion! (Of course, there is forgiveness after that, have no fear.) I've also decided not to include Pettigrew. As for the prequel, I'll just say that it's looking like Snape's Hogwarts years might be long enough to cover two chapters, which wasn't in the original plan. I can't be held responsible; it just expands itself as I write! And I don't mind you being a guest at all. On the contrary, I really appreciate that you take the time to write such detailed reviews, guest status or not. So thank you for your continuous support!

 **Thomasahagney:** Thank you very much!

 **4LJ:** Wow, that is so nice to hear. Thank you!

 **Warnings:** Swearing

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 585-596 of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ while writing this.

 **Redemption**

Severus felt discombobulated, a feeling that any decent spy tried to avoid. Frowning, eyes tightly shut, he tried to piece together an idea of what was happening. The events of—was it the previous night? When was this? For how long had he been unconscious?—came back to him in fragments: the Caterwauling Charm, Minerva, the Elder Wand, and Nagini. The pain from the snake's bite, he found, was hazy in his recollection, like the last tendrils of a dream he couldn't quite grasp upon waking. He decided he would prefer for the details of that particular memory to remain obscured.

"Things will become clearer soon enough," said a familiar voice, one he didn't dare try to identify before seeing the speaker, for fear of getting his hopes up.

He blinked his eyes open and looked around. He was lying down in a meadow. The warm grass was scattered with small blue and purple flowers, and light filtered through the leafy branches of shade trees, which dotted the clearing and clumped together around its perimeter. Beyond that swirled a thin white fog. Somebody was leaning over him, her wavy red hair falling forwards.

"Lily," he breathed.

She smiled, causing the outer corners of her eyes to crinkle, and moved back to give him room as he carefully sat up. "Hello, Severus."

"This doesn't look like hell," Severus remarked stupidly. He still felt as though he didn't have all of his wits about him.

Contrasting with his recurrent frown, Lily's smile widened. "Always the pessimist," she teased, and then added, "That's because it isn't. You deserve better."

"I don't-"

" _Yes,_ you do." She paused before fixing him with a sharp look. "Although I can't believe how you treated Harry! You were really awful to him. For six years, Severus, _six years."_

"The boy is practically an exact replica of James," he protested, albeit weakly, knowing that he wasn't going to get out of this one. He'd known that his behaviour was immature, but he'd never cared; exacting revenge on his childhood nemesis, via said nemesis's spawn, had always seemed more important.

"I understand your thinking, but he's my son, too," Lily said crossly, "and you gave him detentions practically every night, threatened him with expulsion, called him arrogant, lazy, sloppy, stupid-"

"Yes, I remember," he said hastily, to stop her before she could really pick up steam. One only willingly invoked the ire of Lily Potter if one had a death wish—not that that would matter in his case. "I'm sorry?"

"Is that a question or an apology?"

"I'm sorry."

She continued to glare, letting him squirm for several more—very long—seconds. Then she relented, "Well, thank you for protecting him anyways."

"He didn't make it easy."

To his relief, Lily's smile returned. "Of course not. He is mine and James's, after all. What else would you expect?"

"I wish I had done a better job," Severus confessed, while part of him marveled at how easily the words came. "He faced the Dark Lord in his first year, for Merlin's sake!"

"Stop that. I'm not listening to your self-recriminations. I refuse."

Although there was no arguing when her voice took on that stubborn inflection, he tried anyway. "But-"

"No." Her expression grew stern again. "You've spent your whole life hating and punishing yourself and trying to atone for your bad decisions. But I'm telling you, you can let go of that now. You've earned your redemption."

"I did unspeakable things, though, and I called you that word."

"Oh, honestly," Lily snorted in a combination of amusement and annoyance, "did you hear anything I just said? You did the right thing, in the end. No, you're not a saint, but none of us are."

"Fine, but what about _the incident?"_

"Everybody says stuff they regret when they're upset, especially when they're sixteen."

"I still feel guilty about it."

"I know, and I've forgiven you."

How simple those three words were, and yet how much of an effect they had on him. Severus felt as though he had been relieved of a very heavy weight. He had only begged three people in his life: Albus Dumbledore—for a second chance—the Dark Lord—because groveling was mandatory as a Death Eater—and Lily Evans—to forgive him for using a derogatory slur against her. Having that forgiveness at last, it was amazing how quickly his guilt eased. Not entirely, but having carried that burden around for over two decades, it felt like a considerable decrease.

He could easily recall the events of the battle now. In the hindsight of death, things seemed to make more sense. It was Potter, Harry Potter, whom he had seen at the end, and he felt slightly embarrassed that he'd thought it was Lily; then again, he was dying from snake venom and blood loss at the time, so perhaps his confusion was natural.

The person who actually was Lily stood up and beckoned over her shoulder. "There are a few other people who'd like to speak with you," she said.

Following her example, Severus climbed to his feet. In the direction she had motioned, three figures materialized, appearing, it seemed like, from somewhere beyond the fog. They managed to cover the area in a surprisingly short amount of time, considering the speed at which they were moving—apparently physics worked differently here in the afterlife. When the figures were close enough to identify, Severus automatically stiffened and drew back. Lily put one of her hands on his in a calming gesture.

"Hear them out," she requested softly.

"Hello, Snape." James Potter was being downright _civil._

"Potter." Severus's eyes flickered to the other two members of the group. "Lupin. Black." It sounded less like a greeting and more like a suspicious taking of inventory. Suspicion was ingrained, especially when it came to the Marauders.

Something had shifted, however, in this band of friends. Aside from the obvious—they weren't hexing him on sight and Peter Pettigrew was not trailing along behind—they each seemed a bit calmer than they had in life, more settled, more at peace. Sirius Black, in particular, had lost the aggressive, frantic energy that had always seemed to plague him. Remus Lupin looked less anxious, which also somehow made him look less ragged—although last Severus had laid eyes on werewolf, he had just been fatally cursed by Dolohov, so that might have had something to do with how Severus perceived it. And James Potter, well, James Potter with a distinct lack of swagger was something that Severus would never have deemed possible.

Even more improbable than a Potter without swagger and, on top of that, being civil while addressing "Snivellus," was the expression of contrition which came out of Black's mouth: "We want you to know that we're sorry for how we treated you in school." He was apparently the designated spokesperson.

"Are you?" Severus said guardedly.

Black met his gaze evenly. "Yes, we are."

Lupin spoke up, "We were cruel. I may not have actively participated, but I did nothing to stop it, and I regret that."

"What makes you sorry?"

"You grow up a lot when you die," Potter said. His words were then followed by a wide grin, a sincere expression bearing no resemblance to the vindictive smirk that Severus had seen so much of during his teenage years. "Although Padfoot here is never going to be completely mature."

"Nah," Black said, grinning back at Potter and nudging him with his elbow, "what'd be the fun in that? You've got to live a little, even when you're dead!" He flung his arms out to the side to emphasize his point, while Lupin rolled his eyes at the theatrics.

"Honestly, though"—Potter's smile faded—"we instigated the feud, and you didn't deserve what we did. So we're sorry."

On the tip of Severus's tongue was a cutting remark about how he hadn't realized that "instigated" was part of Potter's limited vocabulary, but he bit it back when Lily leaned in close, her breath tickling his ear as she whispered, "I promise they mean it."

Although he tried to find some, there was no evidence that the Marauders were lying. Potter, Lupin, and Black all looked at him with open, honest expressions as they waited patiently for his response. This day was full of surprises.

"Well," Severus stalled, a bit uncomfortable in this unexpected situation, "I accept your apology."

Potter and Black nodded at him, and Lupin gave him a tentative half-smile. Then, on some unspoken request by Potter, Black and Lupin stepped away, their bodies fading until they disappeared entirely. Potter moved closer.

"And thank you for protecting my son," he said, unknowingly—or perhaps knowingly—making Severus feel even more uncomfortable.

He scowled, mostly on principle, for scowling made him feel more at ease. "It doesn't matter; he has to die anyway."

Lily's face suddenly lit up. "Voldemort's spell"—there was no burning in his forearm, but he winced automatically at the name—"only killed the Horcrux, the piece of his own soul that was inside Harry," she said brightly. "Harry got a choice, and he chose to go back. Come here, we can watch."

She grabbed Severus's arm and practically dragged him towards the white mist. James looked highly amused by his wife's behaviour as he followed alongside her. The mist in front of them solidified, and in it appeared an image of the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The Dark Lord himself was addressing the crowd gathered on the grounds of Hogwarts, his sibilant voice magnified with a _Sonorus_ charm. Nagini was draped around his shoulders. Positioned behind the Dark Lord was Hagrid, who held the limp form of Harry Potter in his arms.

"He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds, killed while trying to save himself-"

The Dark Lord broke off in order to Disarm Neville Longbottom, who, for whatever reason, had decided that it would be smart to try charging at the Dark Lord. Longbottom was thrown to the ground by the force of the spell.

The Dark Lord titled his head slightly back and laughed before asking, mockingly, "And who is this? Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?"

"It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord!" Bellatrix crowed. "The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?"

"Ah, yes, I remember. But you are a pure-blood, aren't you, my brave boy?"

With no way to defend himself—the Dark Lord had tossed his wand into the lineup of Death Eaters—Longbottom's prospects looked bleak. Still, the Gryffindor clambered to his feet and faced the Dark Lord without a trace of fear.

"So what if I am?" he questioned loudly.

"You show spirit, and bravery, and you come from noble stock," the Dark Lord mused. "You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom."

"I'll join you when hell freezes over."

From where he was leaning against a tree, James Potter muttered, "That's the spirit."

"Dumbledore's Army!"

At these words, a collective cheer rose up from some of the battle-weary students, the ones who had participated in the resistance.

"Very well," the Dark Lord answered in a quiet, simmering tone that Severus was well-acquainted with. "If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your head, be it."

The Dark Lord waved his wand—the Elder Wand—and out flew the Sorting Hat from one of the castle's shattered windows. He caught the Hat by its point, dangling the object from three fingers and holding it away from his body, as though he thought it might contaminate him.

"There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School. There will be no more houses. The emblem, shield, and colours of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone, won't they, Neville Longbottom?"

An uneasy ripple went through the army of the Light as the Dark Lord put Longbottom in a Full Body-Bind and forced the Sorting Hat onto the boy's head. Death Eaters pointed their wands into the crowd to keep the restless forces at bay.

"Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me." And with a flick of his wand, the Dark Lord set the Hat aflame.

The reaction was instantaneous: Screams broke out. Even Severus drew in a sharp breath, and Lily and James both went very still.

Then, after the period of relative inactivity, everything began unfolding at top-speed. In the periphery of the condensed fog, they could see and hear a new wave of witches, wizards, and other beings come to assist against the Dark Lord's forces. At the centre of the viewing window, Longbottom broke free of the Body-Bind. The Hat fell off his head, and from it he drew the Sword of Gryffindor.

Amid the chaos, Harry threw the invisibility cloak over himself, disappearing from the eyes of the living and becoming a flickering shadow to those who watched from above.

"How…?" Severus asked, startled Longbottom's sudden mobility.

"Harry sacrificed himself for them." James was the one who explained, pride clear in his voice. "The sacrifice protects them from Voldy's curses, the same way that Lily's sacrifice protected Harry from the first Killing Curse."

Everybody, both in the meadow and in the mortal realm below, watched with razor-sharp focus as Longbottom swung the Sword and sliced off Nagini's head. As the head went soaring and its body slid off of his shoulders, the Dark Lord's mouth opened in a scream that could not be heard in the commotion, which was just as well; it was surely not a pleasant sound.

"The snake was housing another piece of Voldemort's soul," Lily said quietly.

Severus took his eyes off of the pandemonium to look over at the ginger-haired witch. It made sense now, the reason for the Dark Lord's paranoia regarding Nagini's safety. And though it hardly mattered anymore, Severus couldn't help but feel a familiar irritation with Albus Dumbledore for obviously having this information, but withholding it from his spy.

"What else played host to the Dark Lord's soul?" He thought of the mysterious mission given to the Golden Trio, the one about which Dumbledore, again, would tell him nothing.

Lily counted on her fingers as she listed each item: "Tom Riddle's diary, Marvolo Gaunt's ring, Salazar Slytherin's locket, Helga Hufflepuff's cup, and Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem. And Harry, of course, unintentionally."

"Marvolo Gaunt's ring?" Severus parroted incredulously. "The ring that Albus put on, the one that blackened his hand?"

"The one and only," James confirmed with a nod.

 _Bloody hell._ He would have killed Dumbledore if they weren't both dead already.

Turning his head back to observe the war at Hogwarts, Severus saw that the battle was back in full-swing, making its way inside the castle. Even the house-elves were participating, running amok into the ranks of Death Eaters, brandishing knives procured from the kitchens. Several of the Dark Lord's top followers went down, not necessarily dead, but definitely in no state to fight further: Dolohov and Yaxley, among others.

Meanwhile, Lucius and Narcissa ran through the crowd hand-in-hand, dodging the plethora of spells which flew through the air. They fought neither with Order members nor with Death Eaters, instead calling out for Draco, eyes searching for any hint of their blonde-haired son.

In the middle of the Great Hall, Minerva, Slughorn, and Kingsley Shacklebolt duelled against the Dark Lord himself. Severus was surprised at the relief he felt seeing that Minerva still able-bodied enough to be in the thick of things. He also found a strange satisfaction in seeing that his old Head of House had come back to fight alongside his colleagues.

An ear-piercing shriek suddenly caused those near enough to hear it to pause: _"Not my daughter, you bitch!"_

"I always liked Molly," Lily commented absently. "She's very sweet."

This "very sweet" Molly of whom Lily spoke was nowhere to be seen as the Weasley matriarch rushed over to fight Bellatrix Lestrange, pushing aside Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, and her daughter Ginerva, who had narrowly missed being the victim of Bella's Killing Curse.

As consequence of a ripple effect, hundreds of people had now stopped their own duels to watch these two, the one between the Dark Lord and his three opponents, and the newly-begun one between Bellatrix and Molly. Both were proceeding in a blur, spells bouncing back and forth in the blink of an eye.

"What will happen to your children when I've killed you?" Bellatrix taunted in her typical fashion. "When Mummy's gone the same way as Freddie?"

Severus's mind immediately went to the twin, and then to the other twin, the one who was now fighting alone—he put an end to that train of thought; he didn't want to think about it. He was not a fan of the Weasley tribe, but he could not deny the fierce love that the family members shared. Molly's vengeful spar with Bellatrix was proof enough of that.

"When did Fred die?" he asked, not sure why he wanted to know.

"Not long before Lucius Malfoy was sent to fetch you," Lily answered. "There was an explosion outside the Room of Requirement, and Fred got caught in the blast."

Back in the Great Hall, Bellatrix was cackling wildly at whatever Molly had shouted in response to her jibes. Then a jet of light caught her, and she froze, her expression still moulded into a manic grin, before falling into a heap on the floor.

The Dark Lord must have been paying some degree of attention to what Bellatrix was up to, or perhaps it was the cheers from the crowd that caught his notice, for he was enraged at the death of his right-hand woman, out of favour though she had been lately. Severus cringed when Minerva, Slughorn, and Shacklebolt were blasted back in the Dark Lord's fury.

Before the Dark Lord could do more than prepare to retaliate, a Shield Charm expanded in the middle of the hall, cast by Harry Potter. Exclamations of surprise and joy broke out as Harry finally tossed the cloak aside, revealing himself. Silence fell abruptly when he and the Dark Lord began to circle each other.

Severus's first thought—which he was not going to voice with the boy's proud parents standing beside him—was that Potter junior did not stand a chance against the Dark Lord; on the other hand, the boy had made it this far, although that could be more of an attribute to Granger's intellect than to his own abilities. Still, perhaps Wonder Boy deserved the benefit of the doubt. Besides, it wasn't like Severus was in a position to perpetuate his grudge, especially when the Marauders—miracle of miracles—had apologized to him.

Harry was speaking, addressing the crowd, when Severus refocused on the image in front of him. "It's got to be like this. It's got to be me."

"Potter doesn't mean that," the Dark Lord said scornfully, also directing his words to their rapt audience. "That isn't how he works, is it? Who are you going to use as a shield today, Potter?"

"Nobody," Harry answered simply, concisely. "There are no more Horcruxes. It's just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good…."

With a jolt, Severus realized that that must have been the latter part of the prophecy, the part that he never got to hear before Aberforth Dumbledore had caught him eavesdropping and thrown him out.

"One of us?" the Dark Lord jeered. "You think it will be you, do you, the boy who has survived by accident, and because Dumbledore was pulling the strings?"

"Accident, was it, when my mother died to save me?" Harry shot back without missing a beat. "Accident, when I decided to fight in that graveyard? Accident, that I didn't defend myself tonight, and still survived, and returned to fight again?"

The Dark Lord looked quite unhinged as he screamed, _"Accidents!"_ his snake-like nostrils flaring and his red eyes opened wide. "Accident and chance and the fact that you crouched and snivelled behind the skirts of greater men and women, and permitted me to kill them for you!"

"You won't be killing anyone else tonight." The two wizards continued to circle each other. "You won't be able to kill any of them, ever again. Don't you get it? I was ready to die to stop you from hurting these people-"

"But you did not!"

"-I meant to, and that's what did it. I've done what my mother did. They're protected from you. Haven't you noticed how none of the spells you put on them are binding? You can't torture them. You can't touch them. You don't learn from your mistakes, Riddle, do you?"

" _You dare-"_

"Yes, I dare. I know things you don't know, Tom Riddle. I know lots of important things that you don't. Want to hear some, before you make another big mistake?"

The words were bold, and Severus might have called them foolish, had it not been so clear that the Dark Lord was hanging on to each one.

"Is it love again?" the Dark Lord asked in what seemed like an attempt to sound bored. Severus knew better, though; the Dark Lord would not attack right now, not while the possibility dangled in front of him of this child having some knowledge that he did not. He was too determined in his search for immortality, absolute power, and endless knowledge to let such a comment slide.

"Dumbledore's favourite solution, _love,_ which he claimed conquered death, though love did not stop him from falling from the Tower and breaking like an old waxwork?" This description of the former Headmaster's death made Severus cringe again.

" _Love,_ which did not prevent me stamping out your Mudblood mother like a cockroach, Potter"—he glanced at Lily, but she didn't seem upset—"and nobody seems to love you enough to run forward this time, and take my curse. So what will stop you dying now when I strike?"

"Just one thing."

"If it is not love that will save you this time, you must believe you have magic that I do not, or else a weapon more powerful than mine?"

"I believe both."

For a fleeting second, the Dark Lord looked shocked. And then he laughed at the absurd notion that had been presented to him. "You think _you_ know more magic than I do?" he sneered coldly. "Than _I,_ than Lord Voldemort, who has performed magic that Dumbledore himself never dreamed of?"

"Oh, he dreamed of it, but he knew more than you, knew enough not to do what you've done."

"You mean he was weak! Too weak to dare, too weak to take what might have been his, what will be mine!"

As though there were any question about it, James commented decisively, "Git."

"No, he was cleverer than you. A better wizard, a better man."

"I brought about the death of Albus Dumbledore!"

"You thought you did, but you were wrong."

Potter must have seen the memories, then, Severus thought. There was no other reason that the boy would say such a thing.

"Dumbledore is dead! His body decays in the marble tomb in the grounds of this castle, I have seen it, Potter, and he will not return!"

"Yes," Harry said with surprising calm, "Dumbledore's dead, but you didn't have him killed. He chose his own manner of dying, chose it months before he died, arranged the whole thing with the man you thought was your servant."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. "The brat is about to spill all of my secrets to a roomful of hundreds of witnesses," he said. "Those memories were for his viewing only. I wouldn't have given them to him if I had known that he would broadcast their contents to the entirety of wizarding Britain!"

"He just trying to do the right thing," Lily chastised, although she flashed him a grin, and James laughed outright. Apparently his distress was entertaining.

"Severus Snape wasn't yours," Harry announced, blissfully unaware that the man in question was watching and listening and willing him to be quiet. "Snape was Dumbledore's, Dumbledore's from the moment you started hunting down my mother. And you never realized it, because of the thing you can't understand. You never saw Snape cast a Patronus, did you, Riddle?"

 _The stupid little...  
_

"Snape's Patronus was a doe, the same as my mother's, because he loved her for nearly all of his life, from the time when they were children."

"You look like someone just forced you to eat stewed slugs."

Lily's casual observation earned her a guffaw from James and a deep scowl from Severus, which achieved the exact opposite of its desired effect.

"I think it's sweet," she said through her laughter.

"Hmh."

Harry, the imp, was still loudly discussing Severus's tragic backstory and true loyalties, much to the Potions Master's dismay. "-But he was Dumbledore's spy from the moment you threatened her, and he's been working against you ever since! Dumbledore was already dying when Snape finished him!"

In the background, both the students who had attended Hogwarts under Severus's reign as Headmaster and the faculty alike looked dumbfounded. He had played his part well.

"It matters not!" the Dark Lord declared. "It matters not whether Snape was mine or Dumbledore's, or what petty obstacles they tried to put in my path! I crushed them as I crushed your mother, Snape's supposed great _love!_ Oh, but it all makes sense, Potter, and in ways you do not understand!

"Dumbledore was trying to keep the Elder Wand from me! He intended that Snape should be the true master of the wand! But I got there ahead of you, little boy—I reached the wand before you could get your hands on it, I understood the truth before you caught up. I killed Severus Snape three hours ago"—it felt strange to hear his own death referenced—"and the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny is truly mine! Dumbledore's last plan went wrong, Harry Potter!"

"Yeah, it did," the boy agreed. "You're right. But before you try to kill me, I'd advise you to think about what you've done… think, and try for some remorse, Riddle…."

Severus raised an eyebrow. As if _that_ were likely.

The Dark Lord seemed to be equally caught off-guard, hissing, "What is this?"

"It's your one last chance, it's all you've got left… I've seen what you'll be otherwise… be a man… try… try for some remorse…."

"You dare-?"

"Yes, I dare, because Dumbledore's last plan hasn't backfired on me at all. It's backfired on you, Riddle. The wand still isn't working properly for you, because you murdered the wrong person."

Severus rolled his eyes to look upwards at the leafy branches and the expansive blue sky above. _Fantastic,_ he thought sarcastically, although it was partially out of habit. A sideways glance at Lily was all that it took to remind him that he wasn't so put-out about dying.

"Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. He never defeated Dumbledore."

"He killed-" The Dark Lord sounded like a broken record.

"Aren't you listening?" Harry seemed to think so as well. _"Snape never beat Dumbledore!_ Dumbledore's death was planned between them! Dumbledore intended to die undefeated, the wand's last true master! If all had gone as planned, the wand's power would have died with him, because it had never been won from him!"

"But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand!" The Dark Lord sounded elated at this idea. "I stole the wand from its last master's tomb! I removed it against its last master's wishes! Its power is mine!"

"You still don't get it, Riddle, do you? Possessing the wand isn't enough! Holding it, using it, doesn't make it really yours. Didn't you listen to Ollivander? 'The wand chooses the wizard.' The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the world's most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance. The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."

Both of Severus's eyebrows went up this time. Draco must have Disarmed Dumbledore before Severus arrived at the top of the Astronomy Tower. Beside him, Lily and James looked like they had been expecting this—of course, they had probably watched that night play out, just as the three of them were watching the battle now.

After another fleeting second of shock, the Dark Lord said, softly, "But what does it matter? Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: we duel on skill alone… and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy…."

Severus wondered where Draco was, where Lucius and Narcissa were, if they were close enough to hear this threat to their son, if they had found him.

"But you're too late," Harry said matter-of-factly. "You've missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took this wand from him."

The escape from Malfoy Manor, the one that had the Dark Lord so incensed during the Easter holidays. Merlin, that night, that day, had seemed endless, what with the Death Eater meeting and then the Dark Lord's unanticipated visit to Hogwarts.

"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it? Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because"—Harry was whispering, but certainly, nobody missed a word—"if it does… I am the true master of the Elder Wand."

The sun rose with what seemed like perfect timing: The bright golden light spilled through the nearest window and illuminated the two figures at the centre of the Great Hall, both of whom shouted out their final move, the one that would end the Battle of Hogwarts.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

" _Expelliarmus!"_

Although Severus was aware of Lily gasping and clutching tightly at her husband, his eyes were glued to the scene before them. For a seemingly-infinite moment, the two spells met in the middle, green sparks against red.

And then it was over, and the Dark Lord was falling backwards, made lifeless by his own rebounding curse. Harry Potter reached up and caught the Elder Wand as it twirled through the air towards him.

Severus let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The wizard who had ruined and ended so many lives, Severus's included, was dead. The Boy Who Lived had done it.

The ruckus of the battle paled in comparison with the ruckus of the victory, and in the peaceful meadow of the afterlife, Lily let out her own whoop of joy. She pulled James into a hug, her arms encircling his neck, and he lifted her off of the ground and spun her around, laughing as he did so.

Then Lily turned and caught Severus in another enthusiastic hug, much to his surprise. He tentatively returned the embrace, a gesture that felt foreign to him.

"He did it, he did it!" Lily squealed over and over again, clapping her hands together like a young child, while James roared happily, "That's my son! That's Prongslet!"

Even Severus cracked a smile—a faint smile, but a smile nonetheless, and who knew when last that had happened—as he, Lily, and James watched the remaining warriors of the Light gather around Harry Potter with incomprehensible screams, presumably of congratulations. Although parts of the castle would need to be rebuilt and the casualties were plenty, Severus knew that they would pull through.

All was well.


	21. Prequel

Hello!

Thank you all so much for the wonderful comments on the epilogue. I'm very grateful for all of the support. As promised, here is a notice that the first chapter of the prequel has gone up. (I confess that it's been finished for a few days—since before I posted the epilogue, although I have been editing—and I was trying to make myself wait before posting it to give myself more time to write ahead, but I was just too excited.) The prequel is called _Behind Closed Doors: The Prince's Tale_ and begins with Snape's time at Hogwarts.

I hope to see you there!


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